


Domus Hadeum, or Where You Live

by MerriWyllow



Category: Mentalist
Genre: Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-18
Updated: 2011-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-23 12:38:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 43,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerriWyllow/pseuds/MerriWyllow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The House of Hades. "Where I live. Every minute of every day. I've never left. I was hoping to, after I killed Red John. Now I don't know how to leave. Misery loves company, Lisbon. And I'm going to make you live there, too." AU. M for words and actions. Now COMPLETE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** No, I don't have delusions of grandeur.

**Disclaimer:** No, I don't have delusions of grandeur.

 **Acknowledgments:** First and foremost - LittleMender - without whom this story simply would not be what it is, so if she does not accept my accolades I shall stamp my foot and pout. As beta reader, she offered a little grammar, a little punctuation (she's weaning me off excessive comma use), and a lot of "this might sound better if..." She was also a sounding board to bounce so many ideas around with. Next, information specialist - who provided discussion that clarified so much of what I needed to understand to write this story, general hand-holding, as well as ideas and information about the show. Duppy Conqueror was another sounding board, and was very encouraging. Also, hardly loquacious, tromana, and kourion did a fair bit of hand-holding too. I would like to thank all of these writers, and everyone else who wrote the great fic I have read here and elsewhere - I drank deeply of the rich, nourishing draught of Story brewed by your hands, and it made this piece all the stronger for it.

 **Author's Note:** This is an AU in which "Strawberries and Cream" never happened. It started as one of the conversations in "Five Red Herrings to Cut Down Mighty Trees" and has grown out of control, like The Blob or the U.S. Federal budget deficit. Even if this first chapter and parts of the second chapter sound terribly familiar, it's worth reading because there have been a few changes.

 **A/N 2:** I plan to post a new chapter every three days or so. A lot of this has already been written, but that should give me time to finish it without having a huge lag time in posting the unfinished bits.

* * *

He was in his attic, sitting in a shadowed corner, away from the window. Even though it was weaker autumnal light, the early morning sun shone in much too brightly for his mood. She knocked on the metal door, then pulled it open and called his name wearily. Even she could not keep the exhaustion out of her voice after getting no sleep following one of the most stressful operations she had ever been on, wrapping up the case that kept him up at night. Walking in, she saw he was not on his makeshift bed, not out in the open. She called again, "Jane, I know you're up here. Come on, answer me. Where are you?"

She searched carefully in all the dark, out of the way places, and located him. He looked at her, a dead, blank expression on his face, and said, "Leave me alone, Lisbon. You don't want to be here." He flinched away from her when she sat down next to him.

"I want to be here for you, Patrick."

"I don't want you, Teresa."

"Well, too bad. I'm here."

"Too bad, Patrick, you lost. You don't get Red John. Too bad, you can't have the one thing you were living for. Too bad, too bad."

"Jane, you're starting to sound kind of crazy. Come downstairs with me, let's get you out of here."

"I'm not going anywhere with you. I'm not going anywhere. I'm already there."

"That sounds... final. Are you thinking about hurting yourself?"

"Thinking isn't what I'm doing."

"Look at me, Jane," she commanded, reaching out to pull his face toward her, to examine his eyes. "Did you take something?"

"No, too easy for you to stop. You took away my reason for living, and you will take my way out, if you get the chance. I thought he was my biggest enemy, but no, you are, Teresa Lisbon."

"Jane. Patrick. I'm not your enemy. I care about you. I'll help you get through this."

"You stole from me. Red John was mine and you took him away. You kept information from me. You had Hightower send me on a fool's errand, because you knew _you_ couldn't sell it to me, so you could move in on him. And then you let someone else have him. You _steal_ from your enemies. You _steal_ from people you don't care about. Do not tell me you care about me seven hours after _taking away my reason for surviving_ ," he said, punctuating the last several words with venom. He stood up and kicked a wooden box on the floor next to where he had been sitting. "Take that too. I'll get another."

She opened the box to find a gun inside. Picking it up, she stood up as well. "Where did you get this?"

"Max Winters. He gave it to me. A 'thank you' gift."

"I care enough about you to keep you from becoming a murderer."

She paused, frowning at the gun in her hand. Opening the action, she checked the chamber before continuing, "You have to know we kept you out of the operation to protect you from that, and from getting killed yourself. We were trying to capture Red John so he could face real justice before the law, a trial with a judge and jury, convicted and sentenced to death. The end would be what you wanted. He had a gun, and shot three members of the SWAT team, before he was taken down. Killing him was not the intent there. That was just how it worked out." She looked down at the gun, and said, "I think you are giving this to me because you want to live. I'm your friend, I want to help you do that."

"Think what you want. But you don't get to say you are a friend; you're a thief. You took what was mine. What can I take from you that is worth as much? Nothing. There is nothing that I can do to you that will do you as much harm as you have done me." He abruptly turned and walked out of the attic. She got up and followed him. She kept up with him all the way to the parking lot. As he walked toward his car, he said, "Stop following me, Lisbon."

"No, I'm staying with you."

"Last chance. Get away from me. Now." He halted ten feet from the Citroen. When she did not move away from him, he gripped her by the upper arms and pushed her toward the passenger side door. "You've made your choice, then. Get in." Still holding her right arm, he reached with his other hand to open the door, then into her front pocket to pull her cell phone out. Eyes wide, she complied. He went around to the driver's side and got in.

"Jane, where are we going?"

"No talking."

"You're scaring me."

"Too bad, Lisbon. You wanted to come. We are not talking now," he raised his voice. That he was angry enough to lose control of his tone of voice gave her more pause than his hands on her had done.

He started the car, pulled out of the parking lot, throwing Lisbon's phone out of his window three blocks from CBI headquarters at a stop light. She heard it crash to pieces on the pavement, and was about to protest when she saw him staring hard at her, reminding her of his command to silence. At another stop light half a mile from the office, he reached over, unbuckled her seat belt, flicked his eyes past her toward her door while they waited for the light to change, and said, "Go." But she buckled her seat belt again and stayed put.

He drove surface streets to I-5, heading south. Early November was a lovely time for a road trip around Sacramento, the fall color at its brightest; but, neither of them were in the mood for enjoying the scenery. Forty-five minutes into the drive, he turned on the radio, searching for something besides static to focus on. Twice when she opened her mouth to draw a deeper breath, he growled low, "Shut up." A little more than half an hour past Stockton, he pulled off into a rest area. Searching his pockets and the floorboards of the car, he came up with $7.89, knowing that the tens and twenties in his wallet might be awkward in vending machines. Keeping enough for a bottle of pop for himself, he handed the remainder to her. "If you want to use that for the phone, go ahead. If you want to stay with me, be in the car when I leave. Twenty minutes."

Lisbon used the facilities. There was the smallest tremor in her hands as she surreptitiously removed the ammunition from her gun. That had been worrying her since he had tried to get her out of the car back in Sacramento, but she had not wanted to draw his attention to the weapons. It was a relief knowing they were both empty. Getting a bottle of water and a Snickers bar from the vending machines, she returned to the car before Jane did. When he came, they both got back in the car. She noticed that his hands were shaking as he drank his pop. She broke her candy bar in half and wordlessly offered part of it to him. He took it without looking at her. Waves of rage and fear stopped his throat when he tried to swallow a bite. Laying his hands on top of the steering wheel, he leaned forward to rest his forehead on them. A few panicked breaths came and went before he could swallow again. "Don't let me hurt you, Teresa. I want to, so badly," he turned to her, meeting her eyes.

Her own tremor increased as she took in the naked storm of anger, pain, and abhorrence unmasked on his face. "Jane, I know you must be - "

"So you can read my mind now? Can you see what I've been imagining doing to you?" he said, harshly. "The knife's under my seat, in a leather sheath. Take it."

Obeying, she leaned far into his side of the car, feeling around until she found it. His breaths became labored again, and he hit the steering wheel repeatedly with his left hand while she invaded his space. It took him several minutes to regulate his breathing again. When he had control of himself, he choked down the rest of the candy and said plaintively, "Why are you still sitting there?"

"Back in your attic you sounded too much like someone planning to commit suicide. I'm not letting you go until I know you are not going to do something foolish. I can read you well enough to know that you're trying to scare me off, but it isn't going to work. You are more of a threat to yourself than you are to me. You say you want to hurt me, but you know that whatever you do to me, you'll be sick with regret when it's done." Her words were braver than she was. She could feel how he was drowning in anger and perceived betrayal, and it made her heart clutch. She was willing to tolerate the risk that he would lose control far enough to harm her, if she could help him bleed out the festering pain, for a chance at a clean grief.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** Imagine the sound track for this as the Scissor Sisters song "I Can't Decide" - familiar to _Doctor Who_ fans as the song The Master sang while pushing the aged Ten around in the wheelchair. I strongly encourage you to search YouTube for it - it's such a cheerful, happy song. The lyrics do have words we consider naughty in the U.S.

**Author's Note:** Imagine the sound track for this as the Scissor Sisters song "I Can't Decide" - familiar to _Doctor Who_ fans as the song The Master sang while pushing the aged Ten around in the wheelchair. I strongly encourage you to search YouTube for it - it's such a cheerful, happy song. The lyrics do have words we consider naughty in the U.S.

 _I can't decide_   
_Whether you should live or die_   
_Oh, you'll probably go to heaven_   
_Please don't hang your head and cry_   
_No wonder why_   
_My heart feels dead inside_   
_It's cold and hard and petrified_   
_Lock the doors and close the blinds_   
_We're going for a ride_

* * *

They stopped to eat in Kettleman City, then took CA-33 to avoid LA traffic. Seven hours after they started out, they arrived in Malibu. He pulled into his driveway, got out of the car and went into the house. He didn't look at her as he went upstairs. She followed. Walking into the bedroom behind him, she heard him say, "This is where I live, Lisbon. Every minute of every day. I've never left. I was hoping to, after I killed Red John."

At first she was so focused on him that she did not see the abomination on the wall. When she did, she breathed out, "Oh God, Jane," and moved to put her hand on his shoulder. He shrugged her off. Turning to face her, he grasped her forearm, pulled her across the room, then sat down on the mattress, bringing her with him.

"You took that from me, and now I don't know how to leave," he said, a worn, defeated look on his face. "I want, wanted to make you feel like this - stuck like a ghost tied to the place it died. All the ways I could think of to get my own back, I can't. I just can't. The worst thing I can do is make you look at it. Misery loves company, Lisbon. And I'm going to make you live here, too. We're going to sleep now." He took his jacket off and hung it in the closet, then kicked off his shoes, took his cell phone, keys and wallet out of his pockets. He put them on the floor and lay down on the mattress, next to the wall. He stroked the back of his hand up the wall and closed his eyes.

There was scant room for her next to him. She lay down on her side, watching his face as his eyelashes steeped in tears. Occasionally her gaze wound up on the dried blood on the wall, but she could not look square at it without waves of sickness gripping her. Time passed. His breathing evened out, and when she was sure he was asleep, she carefully got up, taking his phone and keys with her, and went downstairs.

First, she checked in with Cho, to let the team know where she and Jane were. Then she called Hightower. Her, she told more details to, explaining what a bad way Jane was in, that she was committed to either staying with him until he got through it, or getting him help if need be, arranging to use vacation time until she came back. Next she explored the house a bit, using the bathroom, finding that tap water was almost the only thing available to drink. Jane did stock tea here. She found a pitcher, filled it with water, hung several tea bags over the side of it, and put it in the refrigerator. Himself would not likely approve, but she did not have such a discriminating palate. There were a few cans of soup, condensed milk, a bottle of olive oil, and a half empty, stale jar of peanuts in the kitchen cupboards. In the drawers, she found an assortment of little condiment packets including lemon juice, duck sauce, and some rather unappealingly darkened dijon mustard. Filling two glasses of water, she went back to the bedroom.

Without opening his eyes, he said, "Making yourself comfortable? You didn't sleep."

She heard that smooth, hard tone of voice he used when baiting pet suspects who made the capital error of believing connections, money, or their own cleverness might insulate them from him. Chilled to hear it turned on her as never before, still she hoped it meant he might be coming back to himself. "Do you really think that's possible?"

"Why not? I do it."

"What do you think?"

"I think you called the CBI to prevent them from coming after us in an armed frenzy to rescue you. I think you used the downstairs bathroom. And I think you committed refrigerator tea."

"Is that a sin or a crime?"

"Sin and shame. There's a lot of that going around."

"I brought you some water." She tried to hand a glass to him, but he did not take it.

"Stop that," he said.

"Stop what?"

"Stop acting like you're here to take care of me. It's not why I brought you here."

"You may think you brought me here to be punished, but I came with you to bring you out of the woods you've lost yourself in."

"What if your punishment is having to go so deep in to find me, that you get lost in the woods yourself?"

"What if that's the way to save you?"

Hearing that, he got up and faced her, standing just a bit too close. He said, "It won't work like that, Lisbon. Drink your water and go to bed." He took the glass she had offered him, and walked out, shutting the door behind him, shutting her into that room.

A thought occurred to her. Letting the bloody smile and the horror that it represented stay in the forefront of her mind, she would not last long, not with sanity intact. But if she focused on the persons, Angela and Charlotte, who had died there rather than on the killing, she would not break as easily. She decided that the immortal souls of Jane's wife and child would be accepting of her, even friendly toward her, because they love him, and she was trying to help him. She also suspected that if he could not break her with that horror, she would be able to surprise him into revealing a vulnerable spot in the horned reaction he wore as emotional armor. He had already nursed it for too many years. It had to be pried off, and she could only help him do it - he was going to have to do most of the work himself. She walked up to the mattress, looked full on at the face on the wall, and said, "I'm sorry, I'm not sure I know how to help him. I'm doing the best I can. Pray for him - pray for us." She turned around and went in search of him. She found him downstairs in the kitchen, heating water for tea.

As she came into the room, he said, "I thought I told you to go to bed, Lisbon."

"I haven't had a bedtime in decades."

"You chose to come here. If you don't want to do what I tell you, leave. I'll call a cab, you can go to the airport, or find a hotel, whatever you want. If you stay, well, you stay on my terms. You don't have control here."

"That's what this is all about, isn't it, Jane? Control." She moderated her voice, keeping it neutral so she didn't reveal her precarious perch between wanting to give as good as she got, and mollifying him. "You couldn't control what happened to your family. But to make sense of the pain, you make believe it was your fault, because at least that makes you feel more powerful than accepting how helpless we humans are, as individuals, in the face of evil. You wanted to control Red John's end, so you could feel you had power over him, not because your wife and daughter would have wanted you to avenge their deaths. But you couldn't control what happened to Red John, so now you want to control what exactly? Don't answer that out loud, just think long and hard about the kind of dirty satisfaction you will get out of having that kind of power over me, what good it will really do for you. This is like something out of a Greek tragedy, only you're doing it ass-backwards - calamity happens and _then_ you grow your hubris to disastrous proportions."

"Enough talk - either do what I tell you or go."

She looked at him, held his eyes for several long moments then went back to the bedroom. She sat on the mattress with her back against the wall and waited to hear his footsteps approaching. She said a prayer out loud, timing it carefully so that he would hear part of it. "Eternal rest grant them, O Lord, and may perpetual light shine upon them. May they rest in peace. Amen"

Coming into the room, hearing the end of her prayer, he said, "No, you don't pray for them. Just lie down and go to sleep."

"You come here partly to punish yourself, and partly to be close to them, Jane. You can't give me the one without the other. Since I never met them, this is the only way I know to get close. I asked them to pray for you, earlier."

"Why are you making me repeat my instructions? I've told you what to do. Now do it."

"What goes around, comes around - think of all the times I gave you instructions that you completely ignored."

"Lie down, by the wall." She finally obeyed, and he lay down next to her.

She rolled onto her side, facing the wall. She put her hand on it, and whispered, "You can be at peace now. We caught your murderer. He isn't going to hurt anyone ever again. And somehow or the other, I'll help your Patrick to be at peace, too."

He shot his hand over her mouth. "That is enough. You aren't here to make friends. Go to sleep."

Grabbing his arm, she pulled his hand off her face. "Jane, I'm willing to put up with a lot from you right now, but if you put your hand over my mouth again, I will break your fingers. You. Do. Not. Do. That. To. Me. Ever again." He had only heard her use that voice with the worst of the worst. Masking the conflict between his urge to deny any line she might draw and his qualms against stripping the woman of all her barriers, he moved his hand off of her. He had not yet done any irreparable harm to her. And by virtue of her commitment to salvaging him, he had yet to do irreparable damage to their relationship. The rage in him wanted to know where those last lines were so he could savour crossing them deliberately. The last shreds of trust in him wanted to know where they were to help her defend them. It was a long time before either of them were calm enough for the weariness of the day to drag them under.

She woke with the sensation of a hand on her breast over her shirt, a warm body against her back. Remembering who was with her, she pushed his hand away. His shallow, even breathing clued her in to his state of sleep. She rolled her eyes, and tried to relax. Minutes later, the hand caressed at her waist where her shirt had pulled out of her pants. There was no sign of him waking, so to keep the hand from wandering any more, she put her arm over his, intertwined their fingers and guided his hand to more neutral territory. She was uncomfortably warm stuck between Jane and the wall. But knowing how little sleep he got, compassion made her hesitate to wake him. She determined to stay where she was as long as possible. Eventually out of boredom, she dozed, only to find herself roused again, their hands moving back toward her breast. He softly mumbled something she could not make out. She nudged her elbow at his arm, saying, "Hey, watch the hand!" He kept mumbling and pressed himself closer. "Jane, c'mon, give me some space." She rolled half way over, trying to use her shoulder to push him back. His hand held her firmly, though not painfully. She raised her voice, "Let go, Jane!" and jabbed at him with a foot and elbow.

He woke up enough to let go of her, rolled back, and said, "Ahn... Oh, Lisbon, no, I... that wasn't... I'm sorry." A kaleidoscope of competing guilts shuttered through his mind as he stood up and quickly exited the room.

"That was one of the most impersonal gropes I've ever received, Mrs. Jane. I'm pretty sure he wasn't trying to get a handful of _me._ Not sure if that makes me feel better or worse. And why am I picturing you laughing your little spirit head off?"

He only went about ten feet down the hall as he left the room, and had not closed the door behind himself. It was absurd, feeling the need to apologize to someone he so wanted to punish. He heard Lisbon addressing his wife. She had no right to be making herself free with his ghosts, metaphorical or otherwise. It only made him more angry that she appeared to be so comfortable doing so. He clung to the anger, and ignored the other dozen things he had felt waking up with his arm around a woman on the poor mattress that had replaced his marriage bed. The forefront of his mind had been so fastened on retribution, that he had failed to see the other clews binding him to the purpose of bringing Lisbon to this place. A rational mind would have seen the obvious perils of putting a male body in such close quarters with a female body together with so many strong, wild emotions; his had skipped right past it, and he was not ready to face the error. So when she followed him into the hall, he paid out the understanding expression she wore with a salvo of coldness.

"Lisbon, stop talking to my wife. She's not here. You are _not_ helping. There's no ghost. There's no spirit. She's gone. She's gone because I'm such a bloody fool, I might as well have killed her myself. You are here because you deprived me of my way of making peace. Don't try to get comfortable with Angela's memory - if I don't get that luxury, you for damned sure can't have it, either."

"Maybe if you would forgive her for dying, you could forgive yourself, and me."

He punched the wall with a fury Lisbon had never seen him express in a physical manner. "Do not try to talk _for_ her. Do not talk _about_ her. Do not talk _to_ her. Do not make me repeat these instructions the way you did earlier. You pushing my limits, that is done. Make up your mind _now_ whether you want to stay with me so much that you are willing to obey me, or not."

She looked away, thought, _"I'm so sorry my tit got in the way of your hand,"_ then carefully schooled herself to a less provoking demeanor. Instinct made her shy away from displaying her own anger to him. She dropped her voice to a gentle, low pitch and said, "Is it possible that you are feeling so angry because it is easier than sorting out which woman you feel more guilt toward?" and retreated to the bedroom without waiting for a response.

Watching the transformation of her normally assertive, even (with him) confrontational mien transform into a more subdued one, Jane relaxed toward her slightly. But his rage returned as she asked her question. He punched the wall again, and stalked off downstairs to put space between them.

In the bedroom, she picked up his cell phone to check the time. It was only 1:36 am; this was going to be a long night. She had not had the stomach for food when they first arrived, and she was introduced to Jane's method of punishment for them both. But the In-N-Out Burger in Kettleman City had been a long time ago, and now both hunger and thirst came to the forefront of her mind. Calculating the possibility that another confrontation would make anything better, she decided against going down to the kitchen for food. Instead, she took her glass into the _en-suite_ bathroom, and drank a couple glasses of water. She then settled back onto the mattress, with her back against the wall. Having a stomach full of water did not stop her from thinking longingly of the jar of peanuts in the pantry. She found some games on the cell phone to keep her mind occupied and played until she was sleepy enough that she could contemplate lying down. She fell asleep while debating whether it would be harder to sleep with the light on or off.

Jane stayed away from the bedroom the rest of the night.


	3. Domus Hadeum, or Where You Live Chapter 3

Oh I could throw you in the lake  
Or feed you poisoned birthday cake  
I wont deny I'm gonna miss you when you're gone  
Oh I could bury you alive  
But you might crawl out with a knife  
And kill me when I'm sleeping

-"I Can't Decide", Scissor Sisters

* * *

The two glasses of water she had before falling asleep caused the predictable results around 5 am. Once awake, she felt the hunger return in force. She made her way to the kitchen. She found a bowl that appeared microwave-safe, opened a can of soup to heat up, and nibbled on a handful of peanuts while waiting for the microwave to finish its job. Remembering the tea she had left brewing in the refrigerator, she decided to check on it. When she opened the refrigerator door, she saw that the pitcher was gone. She looked in the dishwasher - there was the pitcher she had used. There were several damp tea bags in the trash can, easy to see because there was hardly more than a few paper towels in there with them.

Without thinking, she said, "That petty son of a bitch!" Hoping he was out of earshot, she knew if she were going to do him any good, she had to hold back the urge to tell him what she really thought about the way he was treating her, at least for the moment. She needed to stay with him. However angry he was with her for shutting down his chance at revenge, she could feel he was also subconsciously, desperately terrified that she would give up on him. He had a childlike need both for proof that she would stick this out, and also for proof of how much she was willing to let it cost her to do so. She wondered, not for the first time, what he had been like with his family, what his true self was like without the need for the emotional armor of the persona he put on in order to cope with trauma and work for Red John's downfall - had she ever seen it? Or were the glimpses of honesty she got never more than displays of his traumatized, immediate reality?

Trying a few kitchen drawers, she found a spoon. She settled down on a stool at the island. As she ate the soup, she began to wonder how long Jane was going to need her there.

IIIIIIIIII

Jane spent a few hours out on the beach, behind the house. He paced on the sand, or sat on a stone bench that had been built into the patio beneath the balcony.

Hearing Lisbon pray for his wife and daughter, then addressing them, obviously feeling more comfortable with the thought of them than she had the right to be, than he wanted her to be, was more than disquieting. As he exited the house, he strode off down the beach to the high water mark by the light of stars and moon and neighbors' security lights, staring at the water. The rush of the breakers calmed him, brought him enough back to himself that he could shed the heat of anger, and think coldly about what Lisbon had done, had been doing. He felt disconcerted by her ability to put on a show of making peace with the family he had lost, when he knew he was refusing to do so himself. They were _his_ family, his loss. She had already taken what was his, she would not be permitted to take them as well.

If she did not respect his dominion over what belonged to him, he would require her to bend her will to his until she learned better. He was afraid that he would not be able to strike as deeply at Lisbon as he wanted, and at the same time, afraid of the results if he did. He wondered if the promises and moves that he had made in the past to protect her had established a pattern that he was finding hard to break. He often expected he would have to save her from himself. He had expected her to need rescue from the consequences of his hunt - not that she would need protection from his own craving for satisfaction.

He needed to make her know, so that she could not escape the understanding of what she had taken from him. He needed her to match that loss, have it make her as hollow as he was. He had told her in the attic at the CBI offices that there was nothing he could take from her that was worth as much as his revenge was worth to him. In return for what she had taken from him, he would take her. She could walk free of him, but if she did not, he would have his way. He had her in his power now; that was worth more to him than putting a knife into her. Much as a lover might take the liberty of overwhelming his beloved, echoing the ancient mystery of storm god overwhelming earth goddess, Jane would take the liberty of the God of the Underworld in creating She Who Brings Destruction.

IIIIIIIIIII

It was 4:30 am when he came back in. He opened a can of evaporated milk and made some tea. Finding a Tupperware container for it, he put the remainder of the milk in the refrigerator. When he saw the pitcher she had brewing, anger surged again, and he murmured, "Not in my house, Lisbon. You'll drink it properly made, or not at all." He took it out, poured the tea down the sink, and threw out the tea bags. After finishing his own tea, he went to the living room and dozed on the couch until about 6:00 am when he heard the front door open and close.

IIIIIIIIIII

After finishing her soup, she thought about taking a shower. Lisbon felt more than grubby. She desperately wanted a change of clothes, or at least something to wear while washing what she was currently wearing. She went upstairs in search of something to put on after a shower. Jane's closet yielded nothing. The linen closet in the _en-suite_ had a few towels, some of them fluffy and generous. She was not quite desperate enough to parade around Jane's house wrapped in a towel, but if she could find nothing better, it would only be a matter of hours before she would be.

She could not remember why it was she had picked up his keys in the first place last evening, but they were in her pocket now. She decided to bring his overnight bag in from the car. With any luck, she would find shorts and a t-shirt she could commandeer. It might feel weird to wear his clothes like that, but it would be better than a towel. So she went back downstairs. Noticing Jane sacked out on the couch, she tried to be quiet as she went out the door.

He was sitting up when she came back in. "Thoughtful of you to bring my bag in, Teresa. Is there something you need?" He held a hand out toward her, expectantly.

"I was hoping there might be something I could borrow to change into after a shower," she said as she brought it to him.

"I'm sure you weren't thinking of borrowing without asking, were you? After all, that would be theft." His arch tone grated on her nerves.

Not letting her frustration into her voice, she simply said, "Please, Jane?"

He was gratified by the effort she put into covering what she really felt, so he opened the bag, and handed her a white undershirt. She kept her expression neutral while she waited a few moments as he paused before pulling out a pair of boxers for her, as well.

"Thank you."

As she turned to go upstairs, he said, "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"I'm sorry, if I have, I've forgotten what it is," she said with a ghost of a smile.

"Ha." He held out his hand. "My keys, Teresa."

"Oh, right." She handed them to him, and went on her way.

IIIIIIIIII

Twenty-five minutes later, she wondered if all of his undershirts were this worn, or if he had given her such a threadbare one on purpose. It was not quite thin enough to read a newspaper through, but she did almost regret not choosing the towel wrap. Still, she was willing to brazen this out, because she felt so much better after her shower. On her way through the bedroom, she made herself look at the bloody smile, to call up all her empathy for him. She wondered if she had a handle on what he really needed from her, if letting him pen her in like this was the best thing she could do for him. "Help me hold out." She was unsure just when she had stopped thinking, and started praying.

When she returned to the first floor, carrying her dirty clothes in a bundle, Jane got up from the couch to stand squarely in front of her. The heat of his reaction to seeing her dressed in his flimsy t-shirt and undershorts, smelling her covered in the scent of his soap and shampoo rather than her own, rushed through his brain and body. Consciously he had only thought of causing Teresa Lisbon to subsume her will to his. For the second time since bringing her to this house, he found himself ambushed by the visceral pull of his body to hers. Worse, he refused to see it for what it was - as much now as when his need for revenge was replaced by his need for _her_ in the dark hours of the previous night - he counted it as a simple biological miscalculation; denying his essential desire to be one with her, separating body from soul, he had willfully cultivated the decay of passion into bald, crude possessiveness.

Lisbon saw what rolled through him and recognized it instinctively. She saw his eyes darken, roaming from her eyes to her mouth then down her body, traveling all over her. Frozen, she had been about to open her mouth to ask a question, but nothing came out. She had been scared for him for more than twenty-four hours, but for the first time she was truly scared of him.

Wrapping his hand around her forearm, as he had in the bedroom the afternoon before, he led her through the kitchen into the utility room. There was a wicker laundry basket sitting on top of the dryer. He pointed to it, and she dropped the clothes into it. Then he led her outside.


	4. Domus Hadeum, or Where You Live Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not easy having yourself a good time  
> Greasing up those bets and betters  
> Watching out they don't four-letter  
> Fuck and kiss you both at the same time  
> Smells-like something I've forgotten  
> Curled up died and now it's rotten

It's not easy having yourself a good time  
Greasing up those bets and betters  
Watching out they don't four-letter  
Fuck and kiss you both at the same time  
Smells-like something I've forgotten  
Curled up died and now it's rotten

-"I Can't Decide", Scissor Sisters

* * *

He led her around the corner of the house to the patio, and rounded on her. Quirking his mouth into a smirk, he stared into her eyes. Still holding her arm with his right hand, he stepped closer, running the fingers of his left hand over her stomach. She wanted to flinch away from his touch and his gaze, but she held herself still. The air was chilly and damp. In moments, Lisbon was covered in goose flesh. Her nipples became even more prominent under the thin material of Jane's t-shirt.

"Look at you. Suddenly you're afraid that I'm going to, what? Push you to your knees and hold your head? Force you to choose between saving me from myself or protecting yourself from rape? It won't work like that." Nodding down at himself, he said, "You may not have expected my body to react to yours, but it isn't important. I don't have to use violence to subjugate you. I've owned you for years, Teresa. Every man who's come within fifteen feet of you in my presence knows who you belong to. Mashburn knew he needed my approval to touch you. Sam Bosco hated it, and hated even more that you let me."

Jane wanted to keep her shock at mention of those names focused on him. He trailed his fingers up her chest to place his hand on her, so that his thumb lay across her collar bone, fingers splayed, palm flat against her skin. If he had placed his hand two inches higher, he would be choking her. Two inches lower would give the lie to him not intending to violate her. But the warmth of his hand gave her strength he had not intended, allowing her to feel the deep connection, the union forged over the years that still pulsed between them.

She felt calmer and stronger than she had since he brought her outside. "And why _have_ you let me mark you like that? I wonder. Do you like the feeling of belonging to a man, to me, without having to give up any control the way you would in a real relationship? Now you're going to repay me for what you took by giving all that control, all that power to me."

The calm she had gained let her think beyond her fear. "Here's the thing, Jane. At the heart of it, there is only so much power in dealing out pain or death. The real power is in life, in joy, in love. You had more power when you created your family, than Red John had when he killed them. You want power over me - how much power do you want? Just enough to destroy me, or do you want more than that?" She paused to take a deep breath.

He interrupted, "I want the same power over you that you used against me, but I don't know how to take the reason for living away from someone who thinks living is reason enough. So I'll settle for making you face just how much control I can take from you."

That was enough to rob her of her calm. "Bite me. Whatever you think is going on here, you don't _own_ me."

He pushed her to the wall, pinned both her arms, and nuzzled her ear. He dropped his voice an octave, and quietly said, "You like telling yourself that, but here you are, sleeping in my bed, wearing my clothes. You _are_ mine."

"You used to say that about Red John."

"Don't worry Teresa, it's not the same at all. I don't have to hunt you. You gave yourself to me a long time ago. I used to put some effort into not using that against you too often, but now, no more soft shoe, no more dancing around this. Where?"

"Where what?"

"Don't play stupid. Where do you want to feel my teeth? Here?" He bit her left earlobe gently. She gasped and shuddered to feel his mouth on her sensitive skin. Then he stroked the skin of her neck with his nose, tracing down to the base of her throat, asked "Or here?" and bit her harder just above her collarbone. She whimpered and squirmed. He groaned so low it sounded like a growl, and asked, "Do you want to bleed?"

"No." The word came out as a pleading whisper. She felt like she was drowning, that she could neither breathe nor move.

His eyes were half-closed as he pressed himself harder against her, and nuzzled his way across her throat, up her neck, and bit the corner of her jaw. This time he held on to her skin until teeth marks set in and her eyes began to water.

He pulled back to look at what he had done to her, satisfied he had not broken skin. Seeing his imprint on her, his own breathing came quick and shallow. At once both aroused and disgusted with his actions, he let go of her and stepped back. He commanded, "Go inside. Now. Do your laundry." Stalking off in the other direction, he went around the house to his car.

Lisbon followed his instructions, moving slowly, shaking. Before she could close the door behind her, she heard the sound of a car starting. She waited until she heard it drive off before allowing tears to come.


	5. Domus Hadeum, or Where You Live Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bitch convincing people to like you  
> If I stop now call me a quitter  
> If lies were cats you'd be a litter  
> Pleasing everyone isn't like you  
> Dancing jigs until I'm crippled  
> Slug ten drinks I won't get pickled

It's a bitch convincing people to like you  
If I stop now call me a quitter  
If lies were cats you'd be a litter  
Pleasing everyone isn't like you  
Dancing jigs until I'm crippled  
Slug ten drinks I won't get pickled

-"I Can't Decide", Scissor Sisters

* * *

Previously:

 _He pulled back to look at what he had done to her, satisfied he had not broken skin. Seeing his imprint on her, his own breathing came quick and shallow. At once both aroused and disgusted with his actions, he let go of her and stepped back. He commanded, "Go inside. Now. Do your laundry." Stalking off in the other direction, he went around the house to his car._

 _Lisbon followed his instructions, moving slowly, shaking. Before she could close the door behind her, she heard the sound of a car starting. She waited until she heard it drive off before allowing tears to come._

* * *

With several deep gulps of air, she held back the tears. Still trembling, Lisbon started her small load of laundry. Ingrained repugnance against waste made her dash upstairs to collect the towel and wash cloth she had used to add to the load. She began to feel steadier on her feet. Back in the kitchen, she looked around, and found a glass pitcher with no lid. Filling it with water and hanging four tea bags over the side, she covered it tightly with plastic wrap then found a sunny window in one of the dusty, unused rooms on the first floor. Going outside, she walked around the house, looking at that window. She then walked out to the beach, not getting too close to the high water mark and the smooth sand where the few people out this early were. Briefly turning back toward the house, she felt as confident that he would see her pitcher of tea only if he were looking for it as anyone who knew him could be. Though it was by no means a sure thing, she figured she had at least a sporting chance at drinking it.

There were only a handful of people within eyeshot this early in the morning, far enough away that she did not worry about her attire. It had begun warming up, so Lisbon was less uncomfortable than she had been earlier. She stood and listened to the waves crashing on the beach. The sound was cleansing, allowing her to release some of the tension and fear that had flooded her that morning. Even though they had never spoken about it, she thought Jane had to know she was more than half in love with him. Lisbon had occasionally wondered if he refrained from addressing it directly for all those years because he was embarrassed by her feelings, or because he felt enough himself to take them seriously. There had been a certain intimacy to their working relationship that she had thought did them both some good. The things he said that morning out on the patio cast an ugly shadow on how she felt about that intimacy - how blind she had been to never notice and put a stop to the way he so frequently assumed a dominant position in relation to her. Now even his habit of opening doors felt poisoned; it had seemed graceful and natural, a point in favor of his good manners even while he insulted the people around him, manipulated them, played them.

Since leaving Sacramento with him, she had mentally prepared herself to meet his need for catharsis in a number of ways - letting him rant and yell, maybe asking local law enforcement for the loan of safety equipment for a sparring session to let him work off his rage, holding him while he wept. The thought crossed her mind that if he asked her for sex out of a need for comfort, that she could have given him that. The result might be bittersweet, even painful, for her. But it would not have ravaged her heart the way he had this morning. There was enough anger in and around her - angry sex had never appealed to her as a way to sort it out. The few times over the years that he had shown up in dreams or that she had allowed herself to speculate what being with him might be like, rage-filled domination had not been part of it. She was relieved that he had not gone far down that course. As a woman who had been raised by an abusive man, and as a law enforcement professional, her ability to instinctively assess the people around her for potential threat to herself was fairly reliable. In all the time she had known him, her internal alarm system had never warned her that he could turn his underlying fury against her in such a debasing fashion. That kind of aggression and possessiveness in any other situation, from any other man, would turn her heart cold, and shut down any connection; common sense dictated that she run as fast and as far as she could get from him.

But somehow Jane had managed to reinforce the flow of energy in their bond all the while hacking at the foundations of it. He was not marching steadily on toward destruction - whether it was two steps forward, one step back, or ten steps up to the edge and one step back. Between threatening gestures he slipped in protective measures too. On the road yesterday, stopping to let her out, giving her money, having her put that knife out of his reach, and the warmth of his hand on her chest this morning all bore witness to the fact that his rage had yet to consume all of their partnership and friendship. As she listened to the surf, she knew she was not ready to give up on him yet, sensing that he had not reached full crisis. Once again, Lisbon steeled herself to stick with him while he needed her.

Returning to the house, with every step she felt heavier. Going through the door of the utility room, she felt leaden. The washer had stopped, so she made herself put the load in the dryer, then went upstairs. Lisbon felt like she was moving in slow motion until she entered the bedroom. The meaning of the room had changed for her, as she hoped it would when she started talking to Jane's wife and daughter. While it was still the seat of his torment, she also felt the presence of love, however broken. Angela and Charlotte had become her allies in her imagination. Something else came to her mind: Jane had hauled her outside when arousal overtook him. Something about how he felt made it impossible for him to face her with it under the same roof he had shared with his family. Whether it was because he could not bear to profane their home with such crude, unloving actions, or simply because he still felt married and therefore unfaithful in reacting to the sight of her the way he had, Lisbon was not sure. But she reckoned this bedroom the safest place in the house. It would protect them both by preventing him from crossing lines that could not be uncrossed.

IIIIIIIIII

In the Citroen, Patrick Jane drove cautiously, aware that his internal fury could do harm to people who did not deserve it. Aware that the universe was just spiteful enough to prevent him from doing the harm that was his heart's desire, yet allow him to hurt an innocent person, he followed traffic laws with an uncharacteristic level of care, particularly as he was driving aimlessly. At least, that is what he thought he was doing until he ended up in front of the cemetery where his family was interred. When he realized where he was, he could not bring himself to get out of the car. He felt more guilt heaped onto the burden he already carried.

He started talking aloud. "Angela, I thought it would be all over by now. But she stopped me, and I can't be anything other than angry. I've never wanted to hurt her before, and I only saw today how much I want to have her." The raw pain of loss that led to his breakdown brought with it a burning nakedness in what he said when talking to her after her death. The man who refused to believe in any survival of the spirit and habitually shredded the defenses of those around him in order to sustain his own, willfully shed them only to the shade of his wife inhabiting his mind. It was a depth of intimacy that cannot be achieved in the flesh, not even in the truest of marriages. The only barrier there was his own self-deception. Things he had blotted out knowledge of - his years'-long claim on Lisbon, his selfishness in pursuing a revenge that could not matter to those he had promised it to - were crashing down on him this morning. A paroxysm of self-directed fury at the blindness that covered those things shook him, making him feel the loss of his wife and child again. It left him not only weeping at renewed grief but also jittering and fidgeting in his seat. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said it over and over, until he was no longer sure if he was saying it to his wife or to Lisbon. Moments frozen in the throes of overwhelming guilt stretched into minutes.

As he wept it dawned on him that if he had not spent so much time twisting himself under the weight of guilt, he could love Lisbon in a way that would not dishonor the family he had lost; what he had done to her - he knew it would have sickened his wife to think he could treat any woman like that. It had been so long since he had heard her voice in reality, that it had faded away in his memory yet he clearly heard her now, "The worst sin - perhaps the only sin - passion can commit is to be joyless." He remembered Angela reading that to him from some classic mystery novel. The shame he felt for it, though, did not force him to unbend, untwist. He was not ready to let go of his anger.

Betrayal pollutes all human bonds except one: that of enemies. Friends, kin, lovers betray each other in every moment, with every selfish urge, with every barrier they put up between themselves. He knew it. He knew the ways he had betrayed his family - crimes against the intimacy of his marriage, false moments in attention to his daughter, holding out against their need of him to slake his ego's need of fame, calling down the wrath of a madman on them. The part of his mind that was capable of weighing justly knew that Lisbon felt betrayed by his actions this morning, as he felt betrayed by hers of two nights before. Worse, he clearly saw how they could have been together - himself standing as Champion for the Dead, Lisbon as Exacter of Justice, their partnership a pact not only for the benefit of the innocent but also binding them together in richer ways. He saw how his quondam search for revenge hurt what was between them. Now he had dragged her down to his dark kingdom, and as surely as he knew she belonged above him walking unfettered in the world of light, he knew he would grasp tightly to her as a dragon to its jeweled hoard.

One thing Jane did realize was that regardless of whether he would let go of his anger toward her so that the bond between Lisbon and himself could heal or continue on a course of destruction, seeing her walking around in his underclothes was not conducive to clear and rational thought. He had to find something else for her to wear. Checking his pockets, he realized that his wallet lay on the floor of his bedroom. He was going to have to go back to the house and retrieve it.

IIIIIIIIII

It had hardly seemed like an hour had passed since she lay down on the mattress - Lisbon must have drifted in and out of stage one sleep. So she started awake at the sound of his footsteps when he entered the bedroom. She saw him carrying his overnight bag into the bathroom. A short time later she heard the shower running. A few minutes after it stopped he came out, wearing a fresh shirt, pants and vest. He hadn't bothered to shave, but that was hardly new.

Picking up his wallet and cell phone, he said, "I'll be making a few calls and leaving again. I'll put the phone on the kitchen counter so you can call Cho or Hightower or whoever. Or you can grow some sense and call a cab to get you out of here," Jane said then walked out, closing the door behind him. A little reverse psychology, a strategy to bind her closer to him, offering her a way out would keep her from feeling the walls of her confinement.

When he got to the kitchen, he located the number for the grocery store he had deliver supplies when he was in town, then placed his usual order, adding chicken, mozzarella, tomato sauce and pasta. Before he left the house again, he found a piece of scrap paper to write a note on - "$10 for the Pavillion delivery". He put the note and the money under the phone and went out.

IIIIIIIIII

When Lisbon heard the car start, she found a window facing the driveway, and watched him leave. Then she went down to the kitchen and used Jane's cell phone to check in with the team again. Cho did not answer after several rings; Rigsby's went straight to voice mail. Van Pelt picked up on the second ring.

"Jane?"

"No, it's Lisbon. Just wanted to see how things were going and I have a huge favor to ask."

"Everything's under control. There's a case, but it's moving along. The guys are out interviewing witnesses. What do you need, Boss?"

"It looks like we're going to be here a while. I didn't have a chance to grab my 'just in case' bag from my office before we took off. I need you to Fed-Ex it to me - second day air is ok if it is too expensive. There should be a twenty in one of the pants' pockets - it won't cover the whole cost, so I'm going to have to pay you back for the rest. And ask Cho if he has any books in his desk you can slip in with the bag - I suspect I'm going to be dying of boredom, and Jane only has so many games on this cell."

"Sure, I can do that. Can you give me the address or do you need me to look it up in his file?"

Lisbon told her the address, and was about to say good-bye when Van Pelt spoke up again. "While I've got you on the line, the Red John reports you delegated to Cho, he delegated to me, and there are a couple details I'm not clear on." She asked her questions, and Lisbon answered quickly. Then Van Pelt asked, "And how are you holding up?"

"I'm ok. No need to worry about me."

"Yeah, Boss, I think we do. I checked the parking garage security footage - he pushed you into his car. We found an empty gun case in Jane's attic. And your phone - we found it in the street over on 6th, smashed to bits."

"I appreciate your concern but there really is nothing to worry about, Grace."

"Has he gotten more physical with you?"

"Look, Jane is not holding me prisoner. He just needs someone, a friend, to stay with him."

"If he's there listening to you, and you don't feel safe telling the truth, say you're looking forward to getting a double chocolate muffin from Marie's when you're back in town."

"Jane's not listening in right now. He left the house a few minutes ago. I won't lie and say everything is easy and comfortable here, but he handed that gun over to me, and a knife as well. He stopped twice on the drive down here to try to get me to call for a ride home so I didn't have to keep going with him if I didn't want to. He was actually kind of pissed off that I stayed with him. Yesterday, he offered to call a cab to take me to the airport, and before he left, he told me he was leaving his phone here so I could call a cab myself."

IIIIIIIIIIII

After the call ended, Van Pelt became more and more uneasy. Lisbon's words did not reassure her. After turning it over in her mind, she went to Hightower. "Ma'am, I talked to Lisbon about half an hour ago. Something isn't right. Her voice doesn't sound as confident as she usually does. She called me Grace; she doesn't do that very often. And when I asked if Jane was hurting her physically, she wouldn't give me a direct answer."

"What are you saying, Agent?"

"I'm saying that I won't stop worrying about her until I or another woman who knows her has a face to face conversation with her. I know it's just a suspicion, but it needs to be checked out. If it is alright with you, ma'am, I would like to drive down there."

"Clear it with Cho, first. Lisbon is tough; she has been holding her own with Patrick Jane for a long time. The Serious Crimes Unit is already down by two. This murder investigation has the priority."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Tread carefully, Agent Van Pelt. Whatever is going on between those two, it might be more of a powder keg than we think. You don't want to be the spark that sets it off."

* * *

 **Author's note:** The classic mystery novel referenced is _Gaudy Night_ by Dorothy L. Sayers - a truly feminist love story that also doubles as a psychological thriller. But for those readers unfamiliar with Lord Peter Wimsey's love story with Harriet Vane, I recommend starting with _Strong Poison,_ followed by _Have His Carcass_. After _Gaudy Night_ comes _Busman's Honeymoon._ Altogether these are very satisfying as both mysteries and as a cycle of romance.


	6. Domus Hadeum, or Where You Live Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got to hand it to you  
> You've played by all the same rules  
> It takes the truth to fool me  
> And now you've made me angry

I've got to hand it to you  
You've played by all the same rules  
It takes the truth to fool me  
And now you've made me angry

-"I Can't Decide", Scissor Sisters

* * *

Previously:

_"Clear it with Cho, first. Lisbon is tough; she has been holding her own with Patrick Jane for a long time. The Serious Crimes Unit is already down by two. This murder investigation has the priority."_

_"Thank you, ma'am."_

_"Tread carefully, Agent Van Pelt. Whatever is going on between those two, it might be more of a powder keg than we think. You don't want to be the spark that sets it off."_

* * *

That time of day, it was a half hour drive up over the mountains to Westlake Village. Jane went to the T.J. Maxx, where he found light blue yoga pants, a thin cotton sweater to match, a sea-foam green linen/cotton blend tea-length shirt dress, and pink satin pajamas in Lisbon's size.

Another 15 minutes further into the mountains, toward Thousand Oaks, he stopped at a farm stand he knew. Jane picked out several ounces of basil, half a peck of tomatoes, a bunch of asparagus, a bunch of spinach, a half dozen each of lemons and tangerines, and a couple pomegranates. Taking his selections up to the counter, he paid for them and got back into the car. On the way back through Malibu, he stopped at a CVS Pharmacy and grabbed a toothbrush for Lisbon.

IIIIIIIII

After talking to Van Pelt, Lisbon retrieved her clothes from the dryer and put them back on. Today at least, her clothing was every bit the armor that Jane's suits were every day. She felt more secure in her own skin with her own jeans and tank top on. In Jane's thin t-shirt and boxers, she felt more exposed than she usually did completely naked. When naked meant clothed in the warm regard of a lover, there was strength and wholeness in it. His response that morning tore past her defenses, smirching her honest feelings for him with a dirty finger. She had long ago acknowledged their existence, then packed them tightly away as unlikely to be fulfilled in any satisfying way. Left dusty on the shelf, her feelings for Jane would harm neither him nor her. It was far cleaner to leave them be than to defraud herself by giving in to a moment's blazing lechery. Her fear as he hauled her around by the arm was not that he might succeed in coercing her, but that she would be left with a mockery of passion rather than a reverent consummation.

To keep herself occupied, she systematically searched the house. The fact that there was very little furniture or personal belongings in the open spoke to the devastation in the heart of the man who owned it. From the relatively small build-up of dust and grime in the place, she surmised that he had a cleaning service in at intervals - every month, or perhaps every six weeks. The master bedroom and bathroom were not so dust-free - obviously the cleaning service had orders to stay out. While she had long known he had kept the place and that he sometimes came here for a few days, she had had no idea that he lived this barren way when he was here.

There was nothing.

There was nothing, except for a few essentials in the kitchen cupboards and in the linen closet of the master bathroom. His only personal items had been brought in his overnight bag. In addition to the mattress on the floor, there were four stools around the kitchen island, and a couch in the living room.

The house was empty.

The house was empty, and she had no idea when he would return. She had already slept as much as she could. So she decided to walk along the beach road to a little convenience store she had seen on the approach to the house yesterday. Leaving the house unlocked, she felt a bit like she did cutting class back in junior high school - wild, uncontrolled. It was silly, she knew; Jane might very well become angry with her for this unauthorized jaunt, but she really did not owe him an explanation for her movements. At the store, she got herself a large coffee, a package of miniature powdered donuts, a copy of the LA Times, a crossword puzzle book, and some six hundred page historical romance, that looked a little less like a bodice-ripper and more like a psychological thriller.

IIIIIIIIII

Lisbon finished her coffee at the kitchen island, nibbling on a couple donuts, slowly reading the paper. At first she attempted to eat daintily, struggling to keep from getting powdered sugar everywhere, but an ill-considered huff at an overly politically-correct political statement by some minor politician blasted the white stuff all over her shirt, and the newspaper. She rolled her eyes at herself, and waited until she got up to brush herself off. Generally when reading a newspaper, she skimmed for crime and sports stories, and when no one else was looking, the comics and Dear Abby. Today, to keep herself occupied, she meticulously read every article, including the two most tedious attempts at stock market analysis she had ever seen in a business section. She briefly considered going through the classified ads, but decided to save that for extremes of boredom.

Putting the newspaper back together, she left it on the island with the bag of donuts. Then she put the coffee cup in the recycle bin. Picking up the book, she went upstairs to the balcony. She had noted in her earlier exploration that there was no seating out there. Whatever outdoor furniture had been there was long gone. So she sat on the floor, leaning up against the railing, reading.

She read for half an hour before seriously thinking about how best to arrange herself for Jane's return. Facing the beach, the balcony offered little chance to see him coming. Suddenly, Lisbon felt restless, needed to move. So she went back through the house, and out, pacing along the patio. She wanted to kick off her shoes and walk in the sand again, but before she did, she heard a car pulling up nearby. So she carefully peeked around the corner of the house to the driveway. Sure enough, Jane had just parked the Citroen and was starting to unload the bounty of his shopping expedition. She thought he had not seen her, and decided to take the chance on walking on the beach again.

IIIIIIIIII

The front door was unlocked. The house was quiet. His cell phone, the note, and the money were still on the counter in the kitchen. He saw the newspaper and bag of donuts Lisbon had left earlier. Jane went looking for her. Not finding her in any of the rooms downstairs, he did see the pitcher of sun tea. Upstairs, he looked into the bedrooms, then he stepped out onto the balcony, and spied her on the beach.

The thought of calling her in like an errant child gave him a grim satisfaction. But he had a few things to do first.

IIIIIIIIIII

When he was ready, he walked out to the beach. Within shouting distance of her, he got her attention then said, "Five minutes, Teresa," and went back into the house. Jane's lip quirked up as he wondered whether the imperative itself or his bland assumption that she would obey would irritate her more.

Entering the kitchen Lisbon saw the tea pot in front of him with several tags hanging over the edge under the lid. Empty of everything but plain ice, the pitcher she had placed in a sunny room earlier that day sat on the counter behind him, next to the refrigerator.

Taking the lid off the tea pot, Jane pulled the tea bags out and put them in the sink. Then he poured the steaming tea over the ice in the pitcher. He gestured toward the large bowl he had placed the fruit in - "If you insist on wasting my good tea on this shameful drink, at least you'll have it properly made. If you want a lemon, wash the rind and slice it up."

"That's for you," he continued, pointing at the shopping bag on the center island. "It's just a couple changes of clothes, and something to sleep in. There's a toothbrush, too."

"Thanks Jane, but this really wasn't necessary. I called Van Pelt and asked her to Fed-Ex the stuff I keep at the office for emergencies."

"Just take it, Teresa. After this morning -"

"Yeah. Thanks." She was unsure if he was trying to apologize outright, but she knew she did not want to deal with hearing him put on a backhanded apology that would cast blame on her. She opened the bag and, a little bewildered by the pastels, thought, "I'm not sure whether to be glad you didn't try to pick out undies for me, or not." At least it would not be difficult to rinse out her one pair of panties in the sink before bed.

He got a glass out of the cupboard, filled it with the iced tea, and put it in front of her. He watched her keenly, as she sat down at one of the stools at the island. For her part, she was aware of his gaze without looking up. It made her hesitate over the tea. Finally deciding not to fight over it, she took a sip.

The expression of satisfaction that flitted across Jane's face as he watched her would not have surprised her; but the look of affection that followed might have.

IIIIIIIIIII

Lisbon retreated to the bedroom with the bag. Taking the items out and looking at them again, she thought quizzically, "Jane, what possessed you to get me pastel yoga pants? And a dress? Really? Who wears this stuff?" She did not hate them, exactly, but the light colors seemed impractical to her. Satin - pink satin - pajamas would be only marginally better than the thin t-shirt and boxers. The advantage would be at the distance - less skin exposed, and the material was less clingy and revealing than the thin cotton. Within arm's reach, though, the advantage disappeared - this was good satin, sensuous to the touch. She would go up like a pile of matches in a forest fire if he put a hand on her. And which was a stronger statement of ownership - a woman dressed in a man's underwear, or a woman wearing lingerie - these were far too nice to be considered simple jammies - the man bought for her?

Then she remembered whose bedroom she was in. Her heart leaped into her mouth. He must have chosen these clothes because they were the sorts of things his wife had worn.

Her stomach felt like she had swallowed a rock. She rushed out of the room, out onto the balcony. She sucked deep draughts of the sea air. She wanted to bring them to him and tell him she would not accept them. But it was a confrontation that would end either in him denying any such motives behind his choices while secretly being pleased by her discomfort then ordering her to wear those clothes anyway or in him being hurt by the rejection of his (or his wife's) taste. This was not the thing that would drive Lisbon to give up on him. She would yet again tamp down her discomfort in the hope of doing him some good.

This strategy was taking its toll on her. Being there for Jane, putting up with his crap, acquiescing to his demands - it was putting cracks in the support structures of her emotions. To survive - and more than that - to thrive, to succeed, Lisbon had had to encase her vulnerabilities in concrete. She got through the darkest times by holding out hope that she would one day be free of the need to knuckle under to the demands of a man slaking the bottomless maw of grief by punishing those around him. And here she was again.

After several minutes, she steeled herself to go back inside. She could give him more time. After all, as unpleasant as it was, his behavior had nothing on what she had already been through. Lisbon looked at the face on the wall and said out loud, "I'm sorry, Angela - this stuff is nice but it's not me." She paused for a moment then continued, "I think I'm coming unglued. If something doesn't give soon, I don't know how I'll hold myself together, let alone him."

Kicking off her shoes and removing her own clothes, she put the dress on. He wanted her conforming and docile to his demands, she would give him more than he bargained for. Going to the mirror in the bathroom, she noticed that the green worked for her. The style might have been far from her own, but he had distinctly had her skin and hair and eyes in mind when he selected the color. Then combing through her hair with her fingers, she saw the mark on her jaw. It was not quite like a hickey, but it was a far cry from the kind of bruise one got from a punch. It made her angry, though. She was angry with Jane for being such a caveman, and angry with herself for not seeing it coming. This too she would have to tamp down.

IIIIIIIIII

When Cho called to have Van Pelt obtain background checks on several suspects, she put the question to him. "It sounds like you and Rigsby are making progress. So I was wondering if you really need me on this one. You saw the security feed from the parking lot, and the Boss's cell phone smashed up. I think someone should go and check on her."

"You think Jane could hurt Lisbon? She can protect herself."

"He is an extremely angry man, who has her geographically isolated from the people who care about her. That rings a warning bell in my mind - it's a flag for potential abuse. By destroying her phone, he has made it so she has to go through him to contact us - another alarm bell. When I asked the Boss if he was hurting her, I couldn't get a straight answer from her - one more bell. Abuse isn't about who is stronger or the better fighter, it's about control and dominating the other. For all Jane seems to love chaos, what he likes best is to pull strings like we're all marionettes. He's teased her about control issues, but his are more deep-seated. And you can't tell me you have never noticed how possessive he is of her. I think she's in less danger during an average fire fight. Maybe he hasn't stepped over the line, but I won't rest easy until I can see for myself that she is ok."

"Lisbon sounded fine when she called yesterday. She's not going to let him kill her. Even if Jane keeps flipping out on her, he is more likely to make her crazy than beat her. That takes time. You charge in there too soon, before she thinks she needs the help, she'll dig her heels in, and you won't do her any good.

"We need you on this one, Van Pelt," he continued. "Get background checks, financials, and phone records for everyone on the suspect list today. We wrap this up tomorrow. First thing the next day, you drive out there, look in on them. Take your laptop and call in when you get there. If we need you to pull more records, you check into a hotel with wi-fi, spend the afternoon working on it, sleep there, drive back at first light. If not, drive home right away, and get back here in the morning."

IIIIIIIIII

Lisbon came down to the kitchen again. The second before walking in, she fluffed her hair so that it hung forward, hiding the mark. The last thing she wanted to deal with was comforting him because he felt oh, so bad about it. The second to last thing she needed was for him to have another caveman moment. She was not sure which would be more likely, and hoped she would not find out. The look on his face when he saw her, a brief flash of shock swiftly covered, told her he was not expecting to see her in the green dress. There might have been something else behind it, but the look had been so brief she could not completely read it.

Jane felt unsettled. He had expected to feel a whisper of possessiveness seeing her in clothes he had provided. He had expected a more obvious struggle for her to wear them, then a rush of satisfaction. He had expected her to ease herself into wearing them by starting with the pants and sweater. This dress made her look different, her presence felt different. He could see she was carrying herself differently, as well - not looking him square in the face.

She poured herself another glass of tea, and said softly, "Thank you for brewing the iced tea for me. This is much better."

The doorbell rang. He wanted to challenge the oh, so demure way she had spoken, but instead went to get the door. It was the grocery delivery. Once everything was brought inside, Lisbon joined him in bringing the bags into the kitchen. She made sure to take only the lighter ones. At any other time, she would have scoffed at the idea of leaving the heavy lifting for him, but she had a point to make.

In the kitchen, she helped him put things away. Then when he started to gather tomatoes, basil, and mozzarella together, she asked what he was making.

"Insalata Capresi. Chiffonade basil, layer it with slices of tomatoes and cheese."

"Why don't you sit down and let me do that?" She edged up to him, took the tomatoes out of his hands and rinsed them off. Then she grabbed the basil from the counter and rinsed it as well. The brisk efficiency of her movements bulldozed him into letting her take over. "Have you got an apron I can use? It would be a shame to mess up this dress."

After a few moments' work, she darted a look at him. The expression on his face told her she had succeeded in discombobulating him; she was willing to lay money down that he was thinking, "Who are you and what have you done with my Lisbon?" But he did get an apron out of a drawer for her. After she finished slicing everything up, Jane took out a serving dish. He laid the salad out, and dressed it with olive oil.

"Let's take this out to the patio to eat." she asked. "It's a lovely day for it."

"If you like," he said. The sense of unease had not dissipated. He found himself going along with her to buy time to puzzle out what, precisely, was bothering him. The stone bench was the only place to sit, and there was no table, so they filled their plates and balanced them on their laps while they ate.

Lisbon put an effort into easy chatter, mentioning a few of the news stories she had read that morning then going on to talk about the few beach vacations she had taken. When they finished eating, she gathered up their plates and forks, and went inside to clean up the kitchen. While she worked, he looked at the newspaper. Unease continued to nag at him.

Done in the kitchen, she asked, "Do you have any laundry? I want to run those new clothes through the wash, but even with the shorts and shirt I borrowed from you this morning, it won't be a full load."

He looked at her a moment before replying, "Thanks, I'll go get them for you."

"Oh, no need. I can get them myself."

She said it such a confident tone of voice that only Jane would be able to detect the wavering she covered. It was plain she was hiding something. What did she have up her sleeve?

IIIIIIIII

After starting that load of laundry, she gathered up what cleaning supplies she could find. Jane continued to watch her. When she started up the stairs, he broke down and asked, "Teresa, what are you doing?"

"Just going to clean the bathroom. I learned a long time ago when more than one person is using it, it's easier to keep it clean than to have to scrub the heck out of it after it gets nasty."

"Of course. Go to it." Very disconcerting to him, having her bustling around doing housework.

She did as she said she would, then on her way out through the bedroom she paused for a long look at the face on the wall. It was doing him no good to keep it there. She had the tools in her hands to remove it.


	7. Domus Hadeum, or Where You Live Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a gangster tonight  
> Don't want to be a bad guy  
> I'm just a loner baby  
> And now you're gotten in my way  
> -"I Can't Decide", Scissor Sisters

I'm not a gangster tonight  
Don't want to be a bad guy  
I'm just a loner baby  
And now you're gotten in my way  
-"I Can't Decide", Scissor Sisters

* * *

Previously: _"Of course. Go to it." Very disconcerting to him, having her bustling around doing housework._

 _She did as she said she would, then on her way out through the bedroom she paused for a long look at the face on the wall. It was doing him no good to keep it there. She had the tools in her hands to remove it._

* * *

Downstairs, Jane had spent a few minutes pondering Lisbon's recent June Cleaver-like behavior. It occurred to him that there might be a disastrous but logical extension of her taking cleaning supplies through the bedroom. Blanching, he ran up the stairs, raced down the corridor, and entered the bedroom to find her standing and staring at the wall. He heard her say, "Is it time? Is he ready? I know you are. Does he need me to just get this over with, rip off the Band-aid? He's hurting so much, and keeping this here is a stranglehold on him. Half the time I think it might be a noose."

Her words blasted him. He had meant for her to feel alien, alone, adrift here, but she was adapting. After he cornered her on the patio this morning, he expected her to feel even more uncomfortable, but here she was, still making peace with his ghosts. For a moment he envied her. The weight of loss and guilt was even heavier now. It bore down on him, contracting his mind. He had to stop her.

"You don't dare."

She replied without turning, "It needs to be done."

"Look at me," he demanded, grabbing her shoulder to turn her to face him. " _You will not_." When Lisbon kept her face turned away, he took her chin in his hand, and made her look him square in the face. The madness, the fury in his eyes told of consequences neither wanted said aloud. And what he saw on her face told of consequences already blooming. "I've already hurt you enough for one day."

She put the bottle of cleanser in his hands, and walked out of the room, down the stairs, out of the house. That kind of anger leveled at her called up conditioned fear. Without thinking, she started walking down the beach road in the opposite direction from the little store she had gone to earlier in the day. Fear did not stay with her long; it transmuted into a haze of anger, one with roots deep in the past, one that did not admit of reflection. Lisbon felt her anger, and she felt her legs moving. She walked for half an hour, walked off most of her reaction. Turning off the road onto a public beach, she found a wooden bench to sit on. Once again the sound of the waves cleansed and offered strength. It washed away the red rage, but left her empty. The afternoon sun should have been warm but it was not enough for her. But she could not bring herself to turn around and head back to the house. She could not bring herself to leave Jane yet, either. So she simply sat, getting chilled.

IIIIIIIIII

Looking at the bottle Lisbon had left with him, he realized he was shaking. Thinking of her attempting to remove the face, the last physical traces of his wife - this was terror. Equal parts terror that Lisbon could take this from him the way she had taken Red John, and terror that she would take herself away - it paralyzed him. He stood and listened to her leave the house. He could not move to follow her. He needed to.

He needed to follow her. He could see her clearly enough in his mind's eye walking along the beach road. He could see her anger. He could see her leaving. He needed her to stay. Time spent consumed by this freeze, he did not track it.

Jane slowly regained the strength to move. He felt like he was operating his body by remote control. Finally he managed to get outside. He examined the ground carefully, hoping he was reading the traces right. Footprints in dry sand were hardly sure. Driving the Citroen, he turned out of the driveway, feeling a pull to her. He had seen the signs in the sand, but his higher functions of analysis had shut down; he was operating on instinct now. There were a number of public access beaches interspersed between tracts of private homes. He stopped at each one seeking her. When he found her, she was hugging herself for warmth. He sat down next to her.

"That's where I live. You can't take it away. You can't. There's nowhere else. I wanted to leave, but I don't know how any more."

"Well, you'd better figure it the hell out, because it's past time for you to get out into the rest of your life." She surprised herself with this outburst. "Huh. Look at that, what goes around, comes around. I'm pissed off at you, too. Look, Jane - I get that you feel like you are hanging on to sanity by your fingernails, but you really are not so bad off that you can't start making rational choices."

"Come back with me, please. Don't leave me there alone." His dull, flat voice affected her more than a pleading tone would have. She got up without looking at him, without speaking. Walking to the car, she got in. It took him several moments to catch up.

"When are you going to be ready to leave it, Jane?"

"I don't know. I... don't."

"That's honest, at least." Quiet for a moment, she started again, "Do we have to go back this minute? Can we drive around - pretend that we aren't both psychological train wrecks waiting to happen? Maybe get something to eat?"

"I can do that," he said. "But there's something I need you to do first."

"And that would be?"

"Please take that off."

"What?"

"The dress."

"Again I say, what?"

"Change into your own clothes, not just take it off, Lisbon. Well, if you want to just take it off, and wander around in the altogether, you'd be more than welcome..." He gave her a half grin.

She smacked his arm. For a moment they were themselves again. It felt good.

IIIIIIIIII

They drove back to the house. Jane waited in the car while she ran in to change. Seeing her in her own things again lifted some of the unease he had before. She looked better; she looked like Lisbon again. Shame poured over him like brackish water. Bending and pushing her - had it been from a subconscious desire to remake her into a substitute?

No.

No. The thought was obscene. He had valued her for herself once upon a time. Forcing someone into a mold - was he that close to turning into his father? He would be worse than the old man, because he knew better. He should _be_ better. But he was not. He was Patrick Jane, a man who destroys what he loves. And there he was again, in the process of destroying Lisbon.

He forced these thoughts to the back of his mind as she got back in the car. The surge of desire seeing her in her skinny jeans and blazer that subtly graced her hips, hinting at her athlete's frame was at once disturbing in its intensity and reassuring to him - he wanted her all the more as she was, without the overlay of someone else's memory.

IIIIIIIIII

They had cruised up to Santa Barbara on the Pacific Coast Highway. It was nothing new to Jane, but long drives on the PCH were on Lisbon's list of things she wanted to do on a vacation sometime. If she ever got around to taking one. And if she ever traded in the hard-top Mustang for a convertible. On the way back they stopped at a roadside stand for supper. He hopped out of the car to get fish tacos and greasy french fries, and brought them back to the car. There were plenty of seafood restaurants along the way - tourist traps and solid local holes-in-the-wall alike - but she claimed to be too old to show off a mark like he had left on her jaw. For a moment he contemplated the wicked delight of the overt display then gave her her dignity.

IIIIIIIIII

The drive to Santa Barbara and back had been a pleasant diversion - a holiday from the strain at the house. But they did go back. Once in the house again, Jane shadowed her as Lisbon advanced the load of laundry to the dryer.

"Go get your book, and come sit in the living room with me," he ordered. She stuck with her strategy of apparent meekness, and did what he said. They settled together on the couch. He resorted to playing games on his cell phone for a while then commandeered the crossword puzzle book she had gotten. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him breeze through so many puzzles that she wondered if he would leave her any. After a couple of hours, she offered to make tea and get him the newspaper. He thought about letting her then decided making his own tea was the better choice. She followed him into the kitchen, where she once again bustled around him, filling the kettle for him then peeling and sectioning a tangerine.

When she offered it to him, he said, "Teresa, if you don't stop the Stepford Wife act, I'm going to bite you again."

"Bugs you, huh?"

He met her eyes and said, "You know very well it does. So stop."

"Then stop giving orders like some throwback to the Middle Ages. Did you really think I was going to fight, escalate your rage, test you to see how far you will go to impose your will on me? I know how to pick my battles."

"Mental Judo - very good, Lisbon."

"Jane, you patronizing slug, make up your mind. Do you want me to give in to you, or do you want me to resist you? If a fight is what you want most, say the word. I can give it to you. You want your ass handed to you, I've got a platter with your name on it. What you won't get is the chance to stand over me with your foot on my neck."

"Don't be ridiculous - physical confrontation between us is going to end only one way and I'm too old to do it standing up."

"You seem sure of that, but I'm not convinced. I'd rather you hit me than use me. How are you going to get past that?"

He stepped directly in front of her, only inches left between them, forcing her to look up at him. He spoke quietly, almost whispering, "If I ask it as a gift, you won't deny me."

Then he turned and walked toward the door, intending to leave the house. "Go to bed, Teresa," he called out as he opened the door. Again he paced the patio under the stars, this time until he had seen the lights upstairs come on for a time, then off in due course. He returned to the house, and stretched out on the couch. If he never really slept, neither was he entirely awake.

IIIIIIIIII

Awareness increased - it was dark, it was silent, but there had been something - a movement, a sound - upstairs. As Jane realized that, he got to his feet and was up the stairs in a matter of seconds. He turned the hall light on, and approached the bedroom. She was lying on the mattress, huddled up to the wall like it gave some solace and protection. Her breathing rather than any vocalization gave away Lisbon's nightmare. He waited for a few moments before going in, hoping it would fade. But she did not stop, and he could not just leave her there. So he went to her, bent down and put his hand on her arm. The moment he touched her, her eyes flew open in a panic.

"Shhhhh, Lisbon, it's just me."

"Wha-?"

"C'mon, get up. Come downstairs with me." His voice was less stern, not as hard as it had been most of the day, but there was a hint of something like impatience in it.

He took her hand and she stumbled sleepily down the stairs with him. He led her to the couch and sat. With his arm around her, he guided her to cuddle up next to him. Whatever her bad dream was about, she did not volunteer and he did not ask. After a time, Lisbon's mind got clear of terror and of sleep.

Conscious of his warmth, she asked, "Why?"

"Why what?"

"I don't know. Why did you wake me? Why are you holding me?"

"There have been enough nightmares in that room. And you feel good." He held her a little closer, burying his nose in her hair. "You smell good," he continued, voice low. His hand started stroking up and down her arm. His touch was light and slow, tantalizing, blazing.

She shifted and turned her face up to his, reaching a hand to his cheek. "You should ask me now."

"Ask you what?"

"Ask me for this," she said as she brushed her lips against his. He responded with a whisper of a kiss, a small movement of his own. She pulled back to see his eyes. They were bright and clear as he ran his fingers through the hair at the back of her neck, guiding her closer for another whisper of a kiss, caressing his lips over hers time and again. It was minutes held like this before she again moved closer, her own hand tangling in his hair, kissing like gasping for air. His other hand skimmed over her back, over the satin, leaving fire and ice in its wake. She caught a moan before it formed, translated it into a sigh. Their mouths opened at the same time trading breaths, his tongue darting along her lower lip once, twice, then hers slid against his. They kissed for some time. But when she moved to straddle his lap, he stopped her.

She held still, waiting for him to say something. He simply stared into her eyes and shook his head. Swallowing hard, she got up and retreated to the bedroom.

* * *

 **A/N:** And this is where we reach the end of what I have written. Well, ok, I'm about six paragraphs into the next chapter, but that would be a highly unsatisfying update, wouldn't it? Rest assured I am working as hard as I can on this. Without LittleMender's help and encouragement, I would have given up long ago, because this monster is going to kill me.


	8. Domus Hadeum, or Where You Live Chapter 8

Previously: _His other hand skimmed over her back, over the satin, leaving fire and ice in its wake. She caught a moan before it formed, translated it into a sigh. Their mouths opened at the same time trading breaths, his tongue darting along her lower lip once, twice, then hers slid against his. They kissed for some time. But when she moved to straddle his lap, he stopped her._

 _She held still, waiting for him to say something. He simply stared into her eyes and shook his head. Swallowing hard, she got up and retreated to the bedroom._

* * *

Remaining on the couch until daylight, Jane tried to be angry with Lisbon for getting ahead of him. He had called her on her false submission, but he was not ready for her to take over. He tormented himself with fantasies of laying her out beneath him - out on the beach or in a hotel away from this house, taking her somewhere off the beaten path, away from people, away from ghosts. It would be just the two of them. He would give his body free rein with hers. She would surrender and be overwhelmed with the pleasure he would impose on her. He would make her need that pleasure so she could not do without him. He would make her beg over and over till when he finally granted her release she would yield herself up to him.

IIIIIIIIII

What was wrong with her? She knew what his problem was. He was still full of - Well, the fury had faded somewhat, but he was still drowning in grief and anger. He still wanted to see her pay a price. He still wanted to have control of her. But the control he craved had very little to do with ordinary life. He was letting it twist his sex urges into something that could get very ugly, very fast. Until now she had been coping reasonably well with his pathological behavior. So why had she suddenly lost the plot over a little surge of her own desire? She felt weak, and ashamed of her weakness. She remained upstairs in the bedroom for some time, thinking about what she could do for Jane, and what she needed for herself. Reluctantly she changed into the loose trousers and sweater that he had bought for her. While it was not really her style, it did not feel as foreign to her as that dress had done.

She went to him in the light of day. He had left the house and walked down the beach when she found him.

It seemed pointless to her to ease into a discussion. Her questions came out the way they did in the interview rooms at the CBI building. Lisbon had lost patience with both herself and with Jane. "What do you want to do to me? What do you need?" she asked as she walked up to him.

He had heard her coming, and turned around to look at her when she spoke. Jane took her measure and saw she wanted to boil their issues down to the bare bones. He considered just how bitter a broth this would make before opening his mouth.

"You want a checklist? That would make it too easy for you. I don't want you to pretend to give in like you were doing yesterday, playing the compliant little hausfrau. I want you completely undone. I want to see you shaking with need, and I want to see your eyes when you realize no one else can fill your need. I want to see you break when I deny it. I want to see you walking the knife's edge of madness. I want to see you fall apart when I decide to finally give you what you need. And I want to be the one to put you back together."

She could not speak for several minutes. Eventually she said, "I don't think I can give you that. I have never let sex be about control or possession."

"No. You would rather have it be superficial - endorphins and hormones, action and reaction - a nice roll in the hay and both parties walk away happy. You have never given a bedmate your whole self. You always keep so much in reserve. I am deeper inside you than any other man has ever been." He leaned toward her, and whispered in her ear, "When I take you, you won't be empty inside afterward. You will be full of fear because it will be the first time in years you've had something real demanding body and heart. For all your fear, you won't walk away from me, though. You're no coward."

He was using language as a precision tool, a laser scalpel, to lay her bare to the shock of want that flooded her, capillaries suddenly opening to flush warmth all over her skin. Yet at the same time, anger stirred in her as well.

"Jane, I'm not afraid of the spiritual union that sex can forge. I would be afraid of what it would be like with us. You are still angry, and that will change things. I know that it would be very different from anything in my past, because you are different. What you are asking is unlike what I have been asked for in the past. And yes, I have happily walked away from a single night with someone, without shame and without feeling lessened by it. I remember a nun in school saying it was wrong to have sex outside of marriage because each partner takes away pieces of your soul. I don't believe I lose anything because I carry part of them, too. It's not about taking - it's an exchange, giving and receiving in turn. But you - you get no joy out of your own spirit. What I want in return, you don't even believe in. You want to possess and take, but with no spirit, no soul, there's only animal. I can give you sex - but I won't run in your pack. If you need more than a simple night easy to walk away from, you will have to offer me more than that."

Anger blazed in his eyes briefly before he got enough control of himself to say, "The Earth is _hell_ and _heaven_. The body _is_ the soul. The animal _is_ the angel. I run in _your_ pack. This isn't _if_ , it's _when_." As he spoke he stepped up to her, snaked a hand behind her neck and pulled her to him. He kissed her, sensually, slowly - the heat was a slow burn, and he said, "Come with me now - we'll go to a motel."

"Are you insane?" she demanded, stepping back out of his reach. "You want something real - here it is. We are not checking into a motel to have sex. You claim I belong to you. You've got me sleeping in your bed, wearing slinky satin pajamas that you bought for me. My skin has your mark on it. I am not the Other Woman. You will not treat me like a dirty little secret. Either I belong _with you_ in your home, or I don't belong with you at all. If you can't get it up to finish staking your claim under that roof, then either let go of that house, or let go of me."

"I'm not in the mood to respond well to an ultimatum, Teresa."

"Ultimatum? Ha! You created this situation. You have a choice to make. You bring me here, and make me sleep under a wall painted in your wife's blood to show me how you punish yourself. You touch me and push me and use me to distract yourself from your grief. You might as well carry a club, drag your knuckles, and haul me around by the hair the way you talk about how you want sex with me. I will not let you take me, take pieces of my soul without giving back your own in return. I am as deep inside you as you are in me. I am already walking your knife's edge of madness with you - have been since you brought me here, and a long time before that. You have to know I-" She froze. She had almost confessed to being in love with him, but she could not say those words now, in the middle of this storm. He saw what she had started to say. He did know. "You want me to beg? How's this - I am begging you not to pull me into a one-sided fun-house reflection of making love. Please don't use sex to punish me. Please." She looked unwaveringly into his eyes for several moments then walked away from him, heading back into the house, not allowing herself to care if he followed.

He had seen something there in her eyes he had forgotten about - the unique mix of vulnerability and strength that she let him, and him alone, see. He had gotten deeper inside her than any other man because she had allowed it. She had given him power over her, and he remembered her words yesterday morning, before he put his teeth on her skin.

 _You had more power when you created your family... how much power do you want? Just enough to destroy me, or do you want more than that?_


	9. Chapter 9

_"You want me to beg? How's this - I am begging you not to pull me into a one-sided fun-house reflection of making love. Please don't use sex to punish me. Please." She looked unwaveringly into his eyes for several moments then walked away from him, heading back into the house, not allowing herself to care if he followed._

 _He had seen something there in her eyes he had forgotten about - the unique mix of vulnerability and strength that she let him, and him alone, see. He had gotten deeper inside her than any other man because she had allowed it. She had given him power over her, and he remembered her words yesterday morning, before he put his teeth on her skin._

 _You had more power when you created your family... how much power do you want? Just enough to destroy me, or do you want more than that?_

* * *

Jane turned and watched her go back inside. He had become weary of his anger. He found himself wanting to rest from it, the way he had yesterday, driving along the coast with Lisbon. He had a craving to go _home_ \- not to that empty house. His brain flashed on the white couch in Lisbon's office in Sacramento. It was not a real home; yet it was _her_ den, where _her_ pack ranged about her. It had _her_ spirit in it. He gravitated to the patio, and slumped down on the stone bench. He wanted to go to her and ask her to take him home. She would not know what he meant - hell, he did not know what he meant. He was stuck here, for all his longing for something else.

IIIIIIIIII

In the house, her stomach clamored for attention. Lisbon had a tangerine, and made herself toast and eggs. After she ate, she had a strong urge to call the office. A measured dose of reality and some caffeine might soothe the iron band of tension around her head that was getting tighter and tighter. The iced tea helped a bit, but it was not strong enough to get the job done. She had lost track of Jane's cell phone. A cursory inspection of the house yielded nothing. He must have it on him. Great. There were several Russian mobsters she would rather go toe to toe with than confront Jane again without the fortification of coffee.

There was nothing for it but another walk to the store. If the coffee there was not the brilliant stuff she got at Marie's at least it was a step up from the usual sludge in the break room at the CBI offices. Walking cleared her mind. She realized that her original immediate concern for Jane, that he would do irreversible harm to himself, had passed long since. A wisp of worry reminded her of his plea yesterday to not leave him there alone. His admission that he needed her said something. He seemed to be fighting the process tooth and nail, but his interior life was changing - making the transition away from the quest for revenge. Not that she had much faith in Freudian schools of thought, but if there were glimmers of truth in those outdated theories of personality, maybe the fact that Jane focused his need for control in libido - metaphor for life-giving forces and connection to the human race - rather than thanatos meant that he was edging closer to actual healing.

IIIIIIIII

He was restless, needed to move from the cold stone bench. Yet he was not ready to face _her_ again. Pacing behind the house for some minutes, he caught sight of the woman walking along the beach road. She was going in the direction of the little store where she had gotten coffee and reading material to occupy her time yesterday. Rationally he knew that was her destination and purpose this morning as well. Irrationally, the urge to run after her in case she was finally leaving him almost overpowered him. Short breaths, pounding heart, he willed himself to let her go. If she had decided on escaping the dungeon he had dragged her into, she deserved the freedom. It was no more selfless than a thief choosing not to steal, but it was a hard thing to do, to not clutch at her.

Laid against the visceral fear of watching her walk down the road, he also felt relief from the anger and insanity that her nearness incited in him. He welcomed the rationality that returned when she was out of reach. She had been reduced to begging him not to bind her up with a corruption of desires. It was shaming to him that she should have to do that.

Now with Lisbon out of the house, he felt drawn back into it. Without thinking about what he was doing, he found himself upstairs in the bedroom. Square in front of the face on the wall. He forced himself to look at it the way Lisbon seemed to look at it - not a horror, but rather a souvenir of a person who had loved him. Either his already faulty grasp on reality was fading, or his mind was releasing the madness from its clench. There was no way to tell what sensations in his mind meant which. On instinct, compulsion without reflection, he pulled the ring off his left hand and slid it up the ring finger of his right hand. He looked down at his hands. Mind quiet, heart numb, he made his way to the kitchen, and sat down at the island.

IIIIIIIIII

Lisbon kicked off her shoes and walked barefoot along the shore on her way back. The coffee warmed her in the chilly morning. If it were not for the burden seated on her by the conflict between Jane and herself, it would have been a lovely, relaxing stroll. She walked past so many homes full of life - children and parents, friends and neighbors. Coming up to the Jane residence from this distance and angle, she felt as though she were stepping from the earth to an alien landscape.

Going in through the utility room door, she came upon him, sitting on a stool. Jane's face was a blank, and pale.

"Are you OK?"

There was a flicker in his eyes but he did not speak or move. What had he done? She scanned the area around him and saw no clue - nothing unusual, nothing out of place - as to what could be wrong. "Jane, listen to me - what's wrong? What's going on?"

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He inhaled but simply could not speak to explain himself. The only thing that kept her from interior panic at the moment was the fact that he was not obviously bleeding. Her training took over, and she began assessing him for First Aid - closely observing him for signs of head wounds, internal injury, illness. She talked her way through it, explaining each step as she felt his skin, moved his joints, palpated his abdomen. Nothing obvious showed itself.

"Jane, what the hell? Please talk to me."

She stepped back and searched him with her eyes - this time from his feet up. When she got to his hands, she saw. The ring had been moved.

"Oh." Eyes blinking several times, immediate fear dissipated and she sat down on the stool next to him, her own energy drained after the adrenaline rush.

They sat in stillness together for several minutes when Jane finally spoke. His voice was low, calm, but sapped of strength. "Lisbon, would you be so kind as to make tea for me? Plenty of milk and sugar would be just the thing. I'd ask for brandy, but there isn't any here. You - you could probably do with some too."

It was too much; thinking about the meaning of his moving the ring was too much for her at the moment. He had asked for her help, so she focused on getting him the remedy for his shocky system. And he was right; her coffee was not enough fortification for this morning.

* * *


	10. chapter 10

Ten minutes after Lisbon served their tea, she realized he likely had had nothing to eat since the fish tacos the evening before. She wordlessly got him some toast. After that he seemed to wake up a bit more - enough to ask for eggs as well, and to reach over to the bowl of fruit on the counter to snag a tangerine for himself.

When he was finished eating, he said, "Sorry about the scare. I don't know what came over me."

"Yeah, right," she said."That's a pretty big change. Do you want to talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about, Lisbon. I'm going for a walk."

"Do you want me to come with you?" While he appeared fully recovered, she was still concerned about where his mind would take him after what he had done.

"No. I want to be alone for a while. But thanks for the offer."

"Wait, before you go - is your landline hooked up here?" It was a silly question, she knew - she had seen no telephones plugged into any jacks on her searches through the house. But she had not wanted to say outright that she was afraid for him and wanted some way of keeping in contact.

"Worried I'm so off my head I might get lost and need you to come after me?"

Of course he would see through her. She replied, "Of course not. Off your head would be an improvement." His nose wrinkled, eyes squinted, and he growled in amused acknowledgment. She continued, "But it's a good idea for you to have your cell with you. And I want to check in with the team."

"Here. You should have the cell phone." He handed it to her and made for the door. "If I need something I can flag down a passing motorist or something."

"No, Jane, take the phone, please."

"I have to get out of here. Now." And he was gone.

"Very reassuring, Jane."

Their whole conversation from the moment he asked for tea until he walked out the door seemed so normal - workaday Lisbon using common sense and her natural authority to attempt to rein in fantastical Jane fluttering away on some shenanigan or other - as to be surreal. It for damn sure did nothing to help her headache.

IIIIIIIIII

She waited until 8:30 to call Van Pelt.

"Hey, Boss. How are things with Jane?"

"Better, I think."

"Any idea yet when you'll be back?"

"No, I just don't know. Please tell me you were able to get my stuff shipped out."

"It should get to you sometime tomorrow in the afternoon."

"Good. Thanks again for going to the trouble."

"No problem. Just let me know if there is anything else you need, and I'll get it out to you as soon as possible."

"How's the case going?"

"We're on top of it, Boss."

"I'm sure you are. You're a good team. Jane might be surprised at how far standard, competent police work can take an investigation, but I haven't forgotten."

"Boss, you may hate me for asking, but how are you really doing?"

"You want the truth?"

"Yes, of course."

"I have no idea. Things are going to be ok. But it's so complicated that I just don't know how they are right now." Lisbon shocked herself that her own defenses were so low that the words slipped out before she could stop them. Embarrassed at her lapse, she said, "Look, don't worry about us. I've got to go now. Thanks again for shipping that stuff for me. Bye!" And ended the call.

"Bye!" Van Pelt responded, giving the phone an exasperated look when she realized her boss had hung up on her. She **had** sounded more like herself until that final exchange. Weary and stressed out as a state of being was almost a default setting for Lisbon, and it really was the best that could be expected of that situation.

But the few times in the field that the younger woman had seen her guard slip that much had been during the most difficult circumstances. Those were the kind of cases that went for more than a week, with Lisbon obviously getting even less sleep than Jane. She would order the rest of the team to get some rest, but there was no one to give her the order when she needed it. Woe betide any agent who suggested she could use some sleep. And even Jane was leery of the attempt; he responded either by bringing out some plan of action that was more reckless than usual in his desperation to finish the investigation, or by behaving as unobtrusively as possible so her wrath would not be turned on him.

The guys had told Van Pelt of an instance before her time when Jane had gone so far as to put the woman in a trance state and guided her to sleep until completely rested. Lisbon did indeed awake refreshed and able to think clearly thirteen hours later. It was the thinking clearly part that got Jane into hot water - she had remembered that his was the last voice she heard before falling asleep, and reasoned out what he had done. That was the only time Lisbon had ever threatened to have him permanently removed from the SCU, going so far as filing a formal complaint against him. They were never quite sure how Jane had wormed his way back into her good graces, and seemed to enjoy speculating about it. Cho did finally suggest that Jane may have simply sincerely apologized.

Van Pelt was unsure if it was a good sign that Lisbon had let herself be that open, or a sign of extreme duress. Giving it some thought, she decided it was best to stick with the plan of checking up on them in person. Her conscience would be happier with Lisbon ticked off at her for unnecessary interference than it would be with knowing that Lisbon had needed her help and did not get it.

IIIIIIIIII

Lisbon spent the rest of the morning alternating between reading her book on the couch and walking out on the beach. Sometimes the reading slowed into sleep and she caught herself jerking awake again. Waiting patiently for him to return, not knowing how he was tormenting himself now was draining her beyond the lack of sleep.

IIIIIIIIII

He did not know where to go, what to do, to alleviate the pressure inside his skull. Walking on the road was a precarious thing. With each passing vehicle, his brain fed him images of tripping and falling into the road right in front of a car. Once the thought crossed his mind that it would be easier than sorting himself out, he forced himself off the road down onto the beach.

His head hurt, and he resented it. He missed his family so much. He resented having to go on without them. He was angry with his wife for not protecting him from Lisbon. She should have. This woman had invaded his life, his mind, his emotions, and he had counted on his wife - her memory, her death - to usher Lisbon out. The more fool, him. The woman had settled herself in his bedroom, bedded down with his ghosts, and gotten friendlier with them than he had managed himself, and then somehow had managed to nudge him beyond the grief he clung to as to the very foundations of his identity so that he had finally, after so many years, moved his wedding ring off its proper hand to the other. His wife had failed to protect him from this. It was her fault.

His thoughts were wearing him down. Looking for a place to sit, he saw he had gotten to one of those points where the mountains came right down to the beach. He settled himself on a rocky outcropping to take a breather from that line of thought. He saw how silly it was. He tried not to laugh out loud. After all, he was in public. People would see him laughing like a maniac and think - justly perhaps - that maniac was precisely what he was. And he would have no proof to the contrary. But the laughter would not stay down, would not stay within. It leaked out. Trying to stop it was like bailing the Titanic - would have taken one hell of a huge bucket to have done a drop of good. So he laughed. And laughed. He laughed until his knees gave out, and he flopped onto the sand with his back against the rock, laughing. In short order, the final remnants of rational thought left to him observed how odd it was he had never before realized "hysterical laughter" was more than a figure of speech, rather than an actual phenomenon. He kept laughing. His sides ached, and he became exhausted, and people were staring at him. He laughed so long and so hard that tears came. That, his small remnant of rationality considered, was a mercy because at least crying was quiet and attracted no more attention. The sun had not had the chance to warm the rock he was sitting against, but it was getting strong enough to warm the sand a bit and keep him from becoming dangerously cold and damp. By and by, the weeping ceased. He slid further down to lie curled up fetal-style on the sand, sheltered from most eyes by the rocks around him. Abject weariness, layers of it, years of it, drew him down into blessed, sweet sleep.

IIIIIIIII

Awareness increased. He became conscious of light - through his eyelids, the bright bloody redness. He saw it. His skin felt it. What had been blanket now felt like a lead apron. The lullaby of ocean became oppressive noise. His limbs felt encumbered. He wondered if he had been buried in the sand. Tests revealed that his fingers were free, and his feet. Then elbows and knees loosened. Hips and shoulders were a bit more recalcitrant, but did yield to the persuasion of will. Sitting up took priority over opening his eyes. He shielded them with his hand before making that attempt. He stood up. He felt empty like the skull of a steer bleached in the desert sun, stripped of all weighty flesh by the blowing dust - become art after the architecture of the beast was abandoned. It would be a poor gift to bring back to Lisbon, but it was still a better one than he had originally offered her - the fetid gore of his shredded soul. He must make his way back to her.

More than a little disoriented in space and time, he felt relieved to note that his foot prints were intact. If he had forgotten everything, at least he knew which direction he had come. It was not like he had amnesia, forgotten his own name. He had not forgotten, had he? No, he was still Patrick Jane. But the couple of seconds it took for him to think it were a trifle disturbing. And so, back to Lisbon - he headed to the road for easier, swifter walking.

IIIIIIIII

It was just rising two hours post meridian when Lisbon awoke fully alert, dropped the book and lost her page when she jerked back in reflex from a dream fall. She tried to remember the dream - surely it meant something - but it disappeared the moment her eyes opened. Her mouth was dry. She felt heavy, weighted, like gravity was working overtime on her.

She went into the kitchen and got a glass of iced tea. She gulped down a third of it then stood pensively in front of the window sipping the rest at a more moderate pace. She put the glass down on the counter and made a circuit of the first floor windows. What she was looking for, she did not find. So she went upstairs to the balcony. Leaning out over the railing, she searched the shoreline. Softly, not realizing she spoke aloud, she said, "Jane, please come back soon."

"Is this fast enough for you?"

She jumped at the voice behind her, turned and said, "Shit! What the hell, Jane? Decide you can't kill me with your bare hands so you'll just scare me to death?"

He grimaced - half pain, half grin - and held his hands over his abdomen when he said, plaintively, "Lisbon, don't make me laugh. It hurts." He had been sitting with his back to the wall, staring at clouds when she came out to look for him. His whole body was sore. Getting up was unpleasant. He held out his right hand to her. She rolled her eyes and helped haul him up.

"How did you hurt your ribs?"

"It's just muscle strain."

She looked at him, expectantly.

"Alright, I laughed myself sick. Then I kept laughing. Then I fell asleep on the beach. Then I walked home. Somehow I managed to get about two miles further than makes for a comfortable walk back."

"What was so funny? How creaky you've gotten?"

"Nothing. Everything. And I'm not that old."

"Well, apparently you are too old to walk far in crappy old shoes, and too young to have learned how important quality footwear is." She continued to eye him, looking for other signs of wear and tear.

"Yeah. I'm sorry you were worried. I really am ok." Before he startled her, he had realized she was looking for him. It gave him a bit of hope that he had not soiled or broken their connection beyond repair with his madness. He hoped it was over. He needed it to be over. He could not take much more of hurting her.

She had not let go of his hand. She looked down at their joined hands, and rubbed her thumb over his. Jane reached out with his left hand to brush his fingertips over her jaw, as though he was considering kissing her. A feathery touch down her neck and he felt desire flowing through his mind into his body. She saw it, but the emotional upheaval of the day blocked her own. She did not flinch away from him but he felt her frozen response.

"Too fast," she choked out in a hoarse whisper. A moment later she was able to continue in a stronger voice, "You're going too fast. I can't keep up with your changes."

"What did you come here for?" His voice was deceptively soft. She heard the demand behind it.

"The balcony? I came out to look for you. You know that."

"No. Why did you come **here** with me? Why did you get in the car with me in Sacramento?

"I was afraid to leave you alone. I've never seen you so out of control with despair and rage. If you had me to focus on, you might not turn it back on yourself."

"You put yourself in harm's way for me at work. You make yourself a shield to protect me from the consequences of the schemes I use to do the job. You stood between me and killing the man who murdered my family. You have inserted yourself into **my** grief. And I let you - I want you to do these things - because I want this connection with **you**. You take control of situations and you tell yourself it's to protect me, for my own good. You lied this morning when you said you never let sex be about control. The reality is that you never let sex be about **anyone else's** control. You offer me access to your body when it's in **your** control."

He tilted his chin down, to meet her eyes. He dropped his voice when he continued, "Sex isn't purely pleasure. It's a connection created in the violence of one body invading another. A woman has to surrender to it. But you confuse control and consent. You tie it up by controlling everything else around it. You've already had enough control over me. You don't get any more. What we are together goes no further until your surrender is unconditional."

She answered, "If you can only be in a relationship if you are the one in charge, we can't be together."

"No. You really don't get it. It is all about control for you. I was fortunate enough to learn how to give up politics in a relationship. How sad that no one in your life has been able to show you that before now. Partners don't control each other at all."

"So I'm supposed to believe that all your talk of taking my control these last couple of days, that was about you teaching me how to be in a relationship? I don't buy it."

A feeling of sick remorse came over him. His expression softened when he said, "No. That wasn't relationship. There were things I didn't know about what I need from you - too much that I didn't know. That was revenge. Can't you see **I am** **surrendering that for you**?"

Afraid to let his anger boil over again, he had to get away from her. So he went back inside. He had wanted to punish her, take something valuable from her and use it to hurt her for all the hurt he had gotten from her. But it was over now. Could she not see he had held back? No - she had not shifted gears with him. He needed her to catch up. He needed to hurry her along. Physical desire was getting in the way. He would have to do something about that.


	11. Ch. 11

Previously: Afraid to let his anger boil over again, he had to get away from her. So he went back inside. He had wanted to punish her, take something valuable from her and use it to hurt her for all the hurt he had gotten from her. But it was over now. Could she not see he had held back? No - she had not shifted gears with him. He needed her to catch up. He needed to hurry her along. Physical desire was getting in the way. He would have to do something about that.

Jane was angry with her again, and she was not sure she understood why. His mind was so lightning quick, it appeared that he not only processed information but also emotions at super speeds. The very idea caught her unawares; after all, he had spent so many years stuck in rage and guilt and grief. She had come here with him to keep him alive and either keep him out of the hospital or make damned sure he got to one if he needed it. She kept him out of the operation to take down Red John to keep him alive and out of prison. She did understand that he would be overwhelmed with fury over that. That is why she had been prepared to let him take it out on her. Somehow he had already worked through his anger toward her, deciding to let it go. He seemed to expect that she would now shed duty and responsibility and shuck her personal defenses for him. This was a sea change she could not fathom - primarily because she felt she was not in the same boat. She was no longer on the same ocean as he was.

Lisbon left the balcony. The world around her seemed so far away, as though she were looking at it through a telescope. Even her arms and legs seemed to be at a distance. Opening doors on her way through the house took concentration. Moving her feet took thought. There was no attention left for deciding or knowing direction. For so long her feelings for the man had been left in her mind as background noise - something to take note of mostly to find ways to ignore. If they informed her decisions on how to deal with him on the job as well as in intimate circumstances such as this, her principles were the vital force above those feelings. Or so she had thought. She had been grateful for times when her emotions and her principles pulled in tandem, times like the day before yesterday when she knew he was in danger and she acted to keep him safe - even if it was from himself. Was it really the strength of what she felt for him making excuses that sounded like virtue? Yes, she had attempted to exert control over the situation, over Jane, but was it not a justified control? Her mind roiled these doubts until she could no longer see the right of it.

The man talked about possession, sex, surrender, control - but there was something he had not said. He spoke of relationship like he thought she had broken faith with theirs by trying to keep herself together and keep him from going off the rails. But they were skipping steps. She did not know where he was in this because he was so far ahead of her. And yet there he was on the beach in front of her. For all her musing, she had no memory of choosing to come down to the water's edge or to come looking for him.

As she had earlier, she cut right to the bone. "The conversation this morning out here on the beach - is that really all we're going to have of the preliminaries to start this relationship? Is that really the nearest thing to dating we are going to do? Because we missed a bunch of steps. It compressed about six months down to three minutes, and I think I need the hearts and flowers." The man was not even slightly surprised to see her, damn him.

"What about the last seven years?"

"Seven years of being colleagues followed by two days of being swallowed by a whale of anger - so we get spit back up on shore and now we're in a relationship? And I'm screwing it up because I'm too controlling?"

"Are we Jonah or Gepetto? No, don't answer that. I withhold consent for the metaphor. Do you really need dinner and a movie twenty-four times before you feel like the relationship is real? I told you before, I'm not giving you a checklist, and I won't take one from you."

"I don't need to tick off items on a list. It's the time to adjust and the time to see... You've gone from a fury of revenge to a fury of... whatever this is. There's too much fury. I need the calm and quiet, too."

"Lisbon, we're past that. Bar the doors all you want, the horse has already kicked down all the stalls and jumped the fence. This is where we are."

"This is where you are, Jane. I don't know how to get there. I'm lost."

"The thing is done. Why play at anything else? The rituals and gestures that people use to work up to it would be empty now, a sham, a fake. I won't do that with you. There is one part of life that I have not painted with pretty lies for the marks so I can take advantage of them. This is it. Considering what those lies cost me when the consequences got home before I did, please don't ask me to drag that emptiness into this."

She cast her eyes down, unable to meet his. "I'm not asking for something empty. Those rituals and gestures meet a need. You want me to dismantle every barrier I have for you. If you want more of me than I can give you in just a night, then I need more from you than just a demand to strip myself open. I need to take those steps one at a time, layer by layer. Because I am afraid. Love may not have been as catastrophic for me, but it has been hurtful. And it's never given me much of a reward for the trouble. There is no trust here that this will be ok. I am stepping out onto thin air, not knowing if wings will sprout on my shoulders, or if I have to walk a tightrope, or if you will catch me. All I know is that there's no net." Then she looked up at him, firmly meeting his gaze.

It took his breath away, the depth of fear he saw in her. He had thought her brave when she faced gun battles without shrinking back. But this was where she would use every reserve of courage. He reached for her the way he had done in the morning, his hand around the back of her neck. He brought her closer to him, only instead of touching his mouth to hers, he leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. "Lisbon, I'm being selfish, then. But I can't bring myself to go backward. I need something to hold on to. I need you with me now. It is unfair to you. Please give me this."

There was no answer for that. Whatever reply she made would undo one of them. Nothing she could say was the right thing. She did not pull away. She placed her warm hand over his forearm and leaned in to him. They stood like that for several minutes. He heard her breathing become just a little rougher than usual as they stood together in the sun. He opened his eyes to see hers shining bright with pain. Stepping back, he released her and walked away.

In for a penny, in for a pound - all that she suffered in the last few days would not be thrown away. She followed him into the house. He could not break her by attack; he shattered her will simply by asking her to do it for him. She would give him what he said he needed.

When they got into the kitchen, she asked, "How does this work, then?"

They were both exhausted. For her it was mostly emotional fatigue. For Jane, it was physical. When his stomach growled, he grinned and said, "First thing we need to do is order pizza. Neither of us is in any shape to cook and we need more than canned soup and cold cereal." So he summoned a large pizza - half sausage supreme and half veggie with extra olives - and a family size antipasto salad. As an afterthought, he had them add a 2 L. bottle of Diet Coke as well as cups, napkins and plastic forks. He planned for them to settle into the living room and not have to so much as walk to the kitchen for silverware.

Stretched out on the couch, he waved her over and guided her to lay down with him. He gently nuzzled her neck and put an arm around her. "It comes to this, Teresa - I want you," Jane said, voice dropping low. "For more than my bed, and for more than a night. If you didn't know it before, know it now. Yesterday morning wasn't - that's not how it should be. I've made myself crazy with want by hiding it from myself and lying to you. I'll be good to you, I promise. I won't use you up until I get what I need then throw you away. There is more to me than that - more to us than that."

When the food came, they ate in silence. Neither had the strength for small talk. After eating, he felt better. But for her, only a small part of her weariness could be repaired by a meal.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:** My apologies for delays in posting. A family emergency has taken over 85% of my brain's processing functions, so it was hard to find the time and energy to do any writing at all. Then when I did write stuff, I could not tell for myself if it was utter crap or if it was worthy of continuing to work on. I leaned even heavier on LittleMender than usual - she let me know what was worth working on, and when I had no idea how to make it better, steered me in the right direction. Without her, this chapter would not being seeing the light of day for at least another three weeks. As for when I will be posting further chapters, well let's just say the good news is that I'm only about one (maybe two) more chapter(s) out from some good solid material that I wrote out of order between the time I posted "Five Red Herrings" and when I started posting this. The bad news is, I'm still trying to function with my brain running at 15% of capacity, so there is just no making any guesses as to when I will be able to write what comes next.

And thanks also to information specialist for encouragement.

  
**IIIIIIIIII**   


After eating, they stayed on the couch, Jane sitting up working on crossword puzzles, Lisbon with her head in his lap. Sometimes she was awake enough to read her book, but mostly she was too worn out to concentrate.

An hour or so later of attempting to read, she put her book down on the floor and began gently running her hand over the knee of the leg she rested on. He stopped what he was doing and looked down at her. Brushing her hair back from her ear and neck, he ran his fingers lightly up and down. She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, he said, "You're not thinking loudly enough for me to hear you, you know."

"You didn't answer me when I asked how this was going to work. I've never been good at relationships."

"You weren't good at the relationships in your past because none of them really mattered to you. You got in them for inessential reasons. You did it because you were lonely or because you thought you were supposed to or because you wanted someone to sleep with. This does matter to you." His fingers reached her collarbone and followed it down across the base of her throat. Goose bumps raised on her her upper chest, and she took a heavy breath. "It was a foregone conclusion. From the time you let me onto your team, we were always going to be together. It won't be as difficult as you think."

"You think this was inevitable?"

"I don't believe in Fate, Lisbon. You know that. But yes, inevitable describes us very well. Why else-"

"Why else what?"

"Why else would I," he paused for a fraction of a second, "have craved your trust so badly?"

She caught that miniscule pause, and the change of direction it signaled. She chose not to pursue it, but she did wonder what his original thought had been.

He had been thinking of all the times when he had acted as gatekeeper for her attention, all the times he had grabbed her hand to check the time, all the times he had asserted a higher level of social dominance around her, when he would not have bothered for any other women of his acquaintance. But he did not care to own up to being an alpha male jerk, more than he already had. "That was not all that you want to ask."

"You still haven't answered."

"I'm not going to give you the answer you want. No checklists, no explanations. The only answer is in living it." Something about her was not right - vitality had drained out of her since their last conversation out on the beach.

He examined her more carefully, set to observe for signs pointing to why so much of her essence had been siphoned off.

Feeling his gaze, she asked, "When you stopped at CVS, did you get anything other than that toothbrush?"

"No. Is there something you need?"

"You need-" and she rolled her eyes a bit and carried on, "to get condoms. Relying on the vending machines in the bathrooms at the Kum&Go up the street is not going to work."

"That's the EZ In & EZ Out, not a Kum&Go. There aren't any of those further west than Montana. You're a Midwest girl, you should know that."

"Really? That's the part of what I said that interested you most?"

"You know there hasn't been anyone -"

"It's been a while since I had a physical and blood work. I should do that. I've got an IUD, so we don't have to worry about back-up contraception." She spoke quietly, almost an aside, rather than addressing him.

She did not sound the way he expected she would during this conversation. No surprise that she would bring it up, responsible to the core as she was. He had expected coy blushes hidden behind her take-charge, no-nonsense Agent facade. Or bold in arousal, she might have spoken with confidence and anticipation. He had seldom seen her beaten down to resignation, but that was what he saw now.

"You're due to have it replaced in seven months, aren't you?"

She rolled onto her back and looked up at him.

"About the time of the Ashbury murders, when you were seeing that Coast Guard Commander from San Francisco - you took a day off. Did you expect me not to notice? Then you had obvious abdominal discomfort for several weeks, followed by your period stopping."

"I take days off. And it's a little creepy that you pay that much attention to female coworkers' cycles."

"I don't pay attention, exactly. I was married before. The signs are there. You never complained when I used to slip a Snickers bar into your jacket pocket."

"I thought those were apologies for your schemes."

"The little ones were apologies. The big ones were... let's call it an offering, an oblation in hopes of divine favor."

"How about not?"

"The little packages of Oreos were because I kind of liked you."

"You used to eat three of them yourself. And don't change the subject, Jane."

"Have you ever been able to stop at three Oreos for someone you didn't like?"

"Fair point." She lifted her eyebrows and bobbed her head just a bit.

He waited half a minute then said, "You have plenty of time to think about whether to have it removed or replaced."

"Removed?"

"Options."

She sat up. Confusion and anger writ large in her eyes, she started to speak, but he interrupted her. "Shapely as your feet are, I'm not making plans to keep you barefoot and pregnant. The option is yours. You decide. And you have plenty of time to do that."

"What color is the sky on your world? Even if I did agree to skip six months of preliminaries and jump right in, this is too much. On my planet we save the long range reproductive planning for after a couple have been together long enough to actually decide to make a future together. I take it back, I really can't do this your way."

Covering his own confusion, he ran a hand through his hair. "What do you think happened here today, if we weren't deciding to make a future together?" This was right for them, for him. He had exposed to her the horror of how he lived and she not only did not shrink back from it, but also had guided him toward a measure of peace with it. Was she blind to what she had done? What was the slow dance of seduction and months of 'getting to know each other' compared to the sledgehammer and chisel intimacy they already had? He could come courting a hundred times and earn no more right to deeper entrance into her life.

He needed to get up before the hammer and chisel turned into a filleting knife and he lost the battle with temptation to tear her open. Gathering up the remains of their meal, he got up and moved away from her to the kitchen. Putting it all away, he made tea for himself. He was willing to concede that her previous loneliness was better for her than rushing headlong into old patterns that would harm her even more than her childhood had done. But her notions of love and intimacy must have been warped by having spent so much time free of them.

IIIIIIIIII

Absurd. He was absurd for expecting her to cooperate with these maneuvers. When push came to shove his control issues were monumentally deeper and harder to uproot than hers. It was even more absurd that she had let him fool her into thinking there could be anything between them.

She had mostly kept herself out of the "planning a future together" stage of relationships by keeping well back behind the casual line. If all her liaisons were not one-night-stands, none of them had gotten past recurring interludes in a long time. She had settled into that pattern a few years before she had even met Jane. Even when she had been seeing someone, no one had claimed her in the way he had.

But now here he was, seemingly expecting her to settle right into a permanent commitment as though all he had to do was command and have. This was beginning to feel more claustrophobic than sharing that single mattress, the seat of his horror and grief, had been. She had kept him alive. She had done what she set out to do. It was time to get away. Van Pelt was worried about protecting her from abuse, but the only one who could protect her from insanity was herself.

  
**IIIIIIIIII**   


**A/N-2:** Yes, Dear Readers who have not had the opportunity to experience this for yourselves, there is a chain of gas stations with convenience stores called Kum &Go. I kid you not. The Man and I stopped at one on our way through Iowa to buy a bag of ice just so we would have something with the logo on it. The EZ In & EZ Out, I gleefully stole from a list of suggestions. There might well be such a place, but I am not aware of it.


	13. Chapter 13

Author's note: As I have said before, this story would not be what it is without LittleMender's sharp eyes and brain to keep me on course. This is doubly true of any work I have done recently. As for the real life challenges which have kept me from devoting all my attention to writing, things are greatly improved. I still do not have all the energy and time at my disposal as I might wish, but I am at least back to 75% capacity.

Many thanks for all the encouragement and well-wishes in reviews and PMs. Your encouragement really makes a difference.

Previously: _But now here he was, seemingly expecting her to settle right into a permanent commitment as though all he had to do was command and have. This was beginning to feel more claustrophobic than sharing that single mattress, the seat of his horror and grief, had been. She had kept him alive. She had done what she set out to do. It was time to get away. Van Pelt was worried about protecting her from abuse, but the only one who could protect her from insanity was herself._

IIIIIIII

Lisbon went upstairs to think, sitting on the mattress with her back to the wall. She was silent for some minutes, then said out loud, "He's running so far ahead of me. Why won't he give me time to catch up? How am I going to get out of this trap?"

Jane had noticed her going upstairs. With time to think about her saying she could not do things his way, he felt torn between hurt and fear, so he followed her in time to hear her words. Stepping into the room, he waited until she looked up at him, then said, "Talking to her about this?"

"There isn't anyone else to talk to."

"Do you really feel trapped with me?"

No answer forthcoming, he continued, "It was your choice to come here. It was your choice to kiss me last night. You could have left at any time. If it is a trap, it's one of your own making. But I have no plans to let you out of it. It's too easy for you to just give up."

"Why won't you give me time to catch up?" The hint of her own impatience dropped her voice lower.

"Time doesn't matter. We belong to each other now. No matter if the choice was made two hours ago or two years ago. We are together. All times are now. Face it, Lisbon - I am not letting you go. If you want to have children, I am the man you will have them with. If you don't want children, I am the man you won't have them with."

As he spoke, he saw her shrinking further back into herself. Not knowing how to reach her, he said, "You don't have to sleep up here. When you are ready, come downstairs."

IIIIIIIII

Vest off, collar and sleeves unbuttoned, he did not bother changing into pajamas. Lying on the couch, he waited for her. With so much of his vengeful, murderous rage draining away, Jane felt washed clean. There was room in his mind, his attention for something good and he wanted it to be Teresa Lisbon. He wanted to hold her with his body and with his heart. He waited for more than two hours, in that state of mind between waking and sleeping.

IIIIIIIIII

She felt lost, huddled against the wall. The way Jane had interrupted had spoiled her ability to feel the refuge she had built into this room with the spirits of Jane's family. It felt cold and empty to her. Her mind chased in circles for an unknown amount of time. Finally, chilled bone deep, she drew a warm bath, adding hotter and hotter water until she was able to clear her mind. Then on autopilot, she dried off, put on some clothes, and without reflection went downstairs.

IIIIIIIIII

He heard her coming down the stairs, and held his hand out to her.

She had changed into the boxers she had worn the day before last and one of his dress shirts. What it stirred in him now was warmer and sweeter than the raw possession that had swept through him when she had worn his clothes before. Lisbon came to him, reaching for him. He tugged her closer and she lay down with him, her back pressed against his front.

He wrapped an arm around her, nuzzling her ear. He whispered, "I know you're scared. You have so much courage when there's someone to protect, or bad guys to put away. Spend some of your courage on us. You need me almost as much as I need you. That's why you came here with me and why you stayed. It's why you held fast in the face of the horror I showed you under this roof. If you can't trust love, trust me. Please."

She held her silence. He felt how hard she was working to regulate her breath. He could see the moonlight glistening on her eyelashes. He held her, willing the physical warmth between them to say something more. Stroking her belly through the smooth cotton, he soothed her into a light sleep and himself into a deep slumber.

It was still dark when she woke the first time. His hand had drifted up inside the shirt she was wearing, resting on her rib cage, thumb unmoving, touching the underside of her breast. A button or two at the bottom of her shirt had come undone. It was overwhelmingly intimate, if only gently arousing - allowing the man's hand to roam and stay where it was. Slipping in and out of sleep, Lisbon slowly became aware that his hand was once again stroking her skin. His fingers barely skimmed over the outside of her breast. She felt more acutely the warmth and strength of his body against hers. With almost any other man she had gone to bed with, she would have quite happily reached back to touch in turn, hoping to awaken desire enough to waken the man.

With Jane, she hesitated. It was more complicated with him. There were layers of meaning in touching him that had not been present with anyone else. Wanting more than this teasing touch, but sensing wisdom in negotiating an agreement on where they stood together before breaking through that barrier, she held back. When the movement of his hand became more purposeful, her breath hitched. His fingertips had traced a zig-zag pattern around her breast, ending at her nipple.

"What do you like better there, tongue or teeth?" he whispered.

"Yeah."

"Not a yes or no question."

"Both."

He flattened his palm against her, skimming circles over her sensitized nipple then lightly pinched it. She bit back a moan, and he instructed, "Let me hear you."

When he tugged a bit more, she still held her voice. Feeling him harden against her backside, she squirmed, grinding her hips back onto him. He took a sharp breath and trailed his hand along her abdomen, sliding under the waistband of the boxers she was wearing. "I'm going to prove you are mine. I want to hear you. Don't make me say it again."

"No."

He stilled. "No, stop touching you? Or no, you won't do as I tell you?"

"No - I need you to stop."

He slowly withdrew his hand from under her waist band. "When she wants it, he doesn't. When he wants it, she doesn't."

"I want it, but I need you to stop pushing me. And I need this to not happen until after you get that possessive crap out of your head. And you need to know that telling me how to respond will shut me down fast."

"We both know you are mine; but apparently only one of us knows you own me."

"I don't - "

"You do. It's time for you to admit it to yourself."

She moved herself to the brink of the couch then carefully turned so she could face him. She held his eyes for a time, until he said with his voice low, quiet and crackling, "Please let me love you. We've both wanted this for so long, even when we didn't know it. Let me show you this is how it should be for us."

He touched his lips to hers and waited for her to join with him. Slowly she moved into the kiss, brushing her lips over his. Slowly, gently, his tongue came into play - tracing the underside of her upper lip. She opened to him, sliding her tongue against his. Moving against her, gradually he became more insistent, thrusting his tongue along hers into her mouth. The hand he had wrapped around her waist went lower, pulling her body tighter against his.

Feeling his arousal, she stroked down his body inside the circle of his arm, nudging him for more room. She slid her hand between them, gently rubbing the back of her knuckles against his fly. His breath hitched and his mouth stopped moving against hers.

He asked, "Do I get to touch you now?"

She stopped moving her hand and said, "Not yet. But I've made this hard for you, and I want to help you out." She wanted the chance to breathe, to have him near without having so much sway over her body and her mind. The power of giving him pleasure while getting a little time to feel and think her way through this maze of changes between them would go a long way toward setting her at ease.

"You're teasing me and punning? There are laws against torture, woman."

"It's only teasing if I don't intend to finish the job."

"You are not going to do for me what you won't let me do for you."

She stopped her hand, and carefully got up from the couch. Walking to the archway between the living room and the kitchen, she turned toward him and leaned against the wall. "This isn't right, Jane. If you keep pushing, you're going to bleed me out, every bit as much as you have ever wished in vengeance. What about your promise to be good to me? Can you only do that if I follow your every whim?"

"This is no whim." The edge to his voice got harder when he said, "None of it is."

"Then why do you have to run me over? When I ask for a little room, you back up and run me over again."

He swung his legs off the couch and sat up. "Teresa - "

"Wait. I'm not done. I want to be with you. But if you can't let me have the reins some, I can't be part of this."

He stood up and stalked closer to her. There was a flash of anger in his eyes. "You're threatening to end this now? I expected better of you."

"I'm not threatening to end anything. Don't you see we haven't even started yet?"

"No. No, I don't. You are in every part of my life, all the time, everywhere. I need you to let me in to your life the same way."

"Why do I feel like you are trying to use me as grout to hold pieces of yourself together?"

"I prefer to think of you as the quicklime in cement."

Involuntarily a sly grin quirked the corners of her mouth.

The hardness around his eyes softened a bit. He saw her thought, and intercepted. "No comments about new uses for the rocks in my head."

More seriously, he continued, "I am in pieces. I can't help that. It's all I have to give you. You can make something good with them. Think of all the Romans accomplished with concrete. This is your power."

"You keep going back and forth," she said. "Now you want to give me the responsibility to remake you, but you won't let me take a hand in how to start this relationship. You keep talking about taking control, and how I have to surrender. But you said yesterday that partners don't control each other. Now you are setting an impossible pace for this relationship. You refuse to slow down for me. Tell me how that isn't your need for control winning out over any other feelings."

She went on, "I think you are trying to pretend to be okay with what happened to Red John. My only question is, is that because you want to be okay with it, okay with me, or is that just part of your plan to pay me back for keeping you out of it?"

He was quiet for a moment, thinking of the perfect storm of emotions that he had weathered in the last few days, and in the last several years. He realized she had a handle on something he had not finished working through. None of his thoughts and feelings were as pure as he had expected. His rage with her had not been without love to moderate it. His desire was liberally mixed with fear. The only part of him not so tempered was his need for control. When he spoke again, he looked away. "Help me - I can't let go of my anger, but I won't let go of you."

"What can I do?"

"This," he answered, stepping closer to her. He began to caress her upper arm. After a moment, he leaned in to touch his mouth to hers.


	14. Domus Hadeum chapter 14

Previously: _When he spoke again, he looked away. "Help me - I can't let go of my anger, but I won't let go of you."_

 _"What can I do?"_

 _"This," he answered, stepping closer to her. He began to caress her upper arm. After a moment, he leaned in to touch his mouth to hers._

One soft stroke of his lips over hers, then another, and she gave in, moving slowly against his mouth. He brought his other hand up to thread his fingers through her hair. "I'm asking now. Let me touch you. Let me burn it off."

Anger at his words shot through her, displacing some of her desire. He held her, not allowing her resistance to grow strong enough to get away from him. Something like prayer, deeper than mere wish in conscious thought, urged that she clear this last wall and come to him. But her eyes had hardened against his urging. Whatever it was holding her away, he felt the vertigo of loss.

"You want a way to 'burn it off'? You don't need me for that. Any body would do." She could have been facing him across the table in an interrogation room for all the freezing scorn in her voice.

"No, has to be you." He brought his hands up to frame her face, and rested his forehead against hers. For a moment, he closed his eyes to gather strength. When he pulled back far enough to meet her eyes, he opened his own once more. He could see she was at her limit - he was at her limit. She was giving him one last chance. If he did not reach her in the next few seconds, he would never hold her and keep her. Desperation broke him.

He was unable even to try to hide the breaking. He whispered, lacking the strength to fully voice his thoughts, "I didn't mean it like that - I can't, I keep getting this wrong, I can't have just a body for this. Please. Any time, you could leave and I'm afraid. If you go, then whatever is in me that's good enough to want you will be dust and ashes. It's the only part of me left that's worth anything, what sees you and wants you and needs you."

It almost scorched her, seeing this unveiled in his eyes. He was letting her deeper inside, drawing her in. The breath caught in her throat with what she saw in him. She said, gently, "What do you need, Patrick?"

"One card put wrong brings the whole house down, and I'm too weak to hold steady when I put it together. So it's all baling wire and duck tape and popsicle sticks. Can't simply say it, which piece goes where. That's why - " he paused, sucked in a hard breath and continued, "That's why - "

She filled in for him, "That's why you need to have control right now." She met his eyes for a moment, weighing the emotions she had for him, against all her needs. Balanced as she was on the edge of it, she could no longer tell if it was a palette knife or a butcher knife, nor which she wanted most.

He could not speak. His only answer was a barely discernible nod of the head.

She responded by moving closer, tilting her face so her nose brushed along the side of his nose, ready to kiss him. "I understand now," she whispered. "I'm here. I'm with you. I'm not going anywhere."

Their mouths claimed each other, lips and tongues making argument in silence, essence of union in negotiation for their lives. Her hands clung to his shoulders. His travelled over her back, pulling her body implacably to his. His mouth became more assertive, more frantic. His fingers in her hair tightened, pulling at her scalp but stopping short of causing pain. Angling her head to the side, he held her still for the onslaught of his mouth along her jaw, down her neck. He grazed his teeth over her skin, as he tasted her. She needed a breath that she could not catch between the pressure of her own want, and all the pressures of his commanding need.

"Jane -" she said, falling back on old habits to get enough distance to breathe.

"Shouldn't we be on a first name basis before I take you? Please tell me you don't think of this as work."

"Patrick - condoms."

"Don't care. I'll take my chances. I need this. I need you, need you so much," he said. "I'm not going to force you, but if you stay, I'm going to hold you down and push myself into your body. Do you want to leave?"

He stepped back from her, giving her room to get past him. "Do what you want," she answered, with a hint of smirk at the corners of her mouth. She made no move to get away. Challenging him, she offered, "I'm not delicate. Don't hold back."

He waited, marking time in a way known only to himself. His eyes dropped from hers, latching onto the buttons that had come undone at the bottom of the shirt she wore. To a woman expecting a wolfish flash, it seemed almost innocuous for the space of several breaths. Just as she began to wonder if he had changed his mind, he broke into motion suddenly, reaching for her. He spun her around, one hand flat against her abdomen sliding down, the other firmly across her ribcage, thumb brushing the underside of her breast. Nuzzling the side of her neck for a moment, he lightly bit her shoulder. She gasped.

Then he walked her to the back of the couch. He tugged on the boxers, and slid them past her hips. He pushed her so that she bent at the waist, her bare ass in the air. He saw that she was breathing hard, and undid his own pants. Stroking the skin of her back with one hand, he reached under her with the other to lift her so her hips were supported on the peak of the couch. Once she was aligned with him, he pressed his hips against hers and rubbed himself against her heat. The hand on her back felt a shiver as he did so.

She started shaking as she said, "Not like this! Patrick, please, I can't." Her breath was coming in panicked draughts. He stilled. She begged, "Let me go!"

He backed off of her, stunned. She stood up and turned around. "Just - not like that," she said between gasps, "We can still... It's... I need to be facing you, not bent over like that." She brought her hands up to try to unbutton her shirt. She was shaking too hard to succeed.

Realizing that she would make herself carry on, to meet his need and desire, surprised him more than any other thing she had done since he had been informed of the Red John operation. In an instant all his anger with her drained away, and the desire to protect and love her surged forward. If she took so little care of herself, he had to step in. He put his hands over hers. "Stop. Teresa, stop. You're right, not like this. I'm seven kinds of cold-hearted bastard, but none of them is the kind to expect sex from you while you're having a panic attack."

This was the first time in three days she had heard any real gentleness in his voice. "Please get dressed," his voice took on a pleading tone. "Take deep breaths. Breathe, precious. I've jerked you around and pushed you around ever since I brought you here. The whole time, you've felt violated, but you wanted to give me whatever I needed. I do not need for you to martyr yourself to my prick. Breathe - in through your nose, out through your mouth, in through the nose, deeper. That's it, out through your mouth."

He zipped his fly and buttoned his waistband. Breathing with her, he coached, "Keep breathing, all the way into your belly. And again. That's it, keep going." He reached down to the floor and pulled her boxers up. He gently did up the buttons that had gotten undone earlier. "Tell me what this is, sweetheart."

She turned her face away from him, shaking her head. Her breath had slowed a bit, but tears were running down her face, and she could not yet speak. He hesitated, not wanting to make things worse. But he longed to soothe her, so he reached for her hand. Slowly he touched his fingertips to her skin. She did not shrink back from him, so he gently, unhurriedly wrapped his right hand around her wrist. His non-restrictive hold allowed him to monitor her pulse in case any move he made triggered more panic. His own sick unease increasing, he gradually came close enough to stand next to her. At first she was not comfortable with him touching her but made herself still, working to accept the warmth he offered and to allow him the privilege of a man to comfort the woman in his life. He waited to feel her stay with him, not flinching or leaning away, before lightly placing his left hand on her near shoulder. He knew very well how much she hated needing it. When she could get words out, she sobbed out, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm so upset. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"No, precious, Teresa, no, you have nothing to be sorry for." He paused to breathe with her. "Please, you have to believe me, if I had known that would hurt you, I wouldn't... I'm not a rapist."

"Wasn't your fault." She tried to regain control of herself so that her panic would not add to his burden of guilt, but the harder she tried, the further away control seemed to be. It was still far from effortless for her to breathe without hyperventilating. "You had no way to know. I didn't know I would react like that. Didn't expect you to shove my pants down and bend me over." She labored to speak as though every word was a lead brick, inhaling deeply as she exhaled the words. "I don't mind being... manhandled, it can be good that way, but not ... it's never been quite like that. I didn't know, I'm sorry."

He waited a couple minutes, then started, "Your father, did he -"

She cut him off, "Not... just the belt, after the drinking started."

"You were twelve when your mother died. And you've been trying to fool yourself into thinking they were simple, innocent beatings ever since." No wonder she had pleaded with him not to punish her - in order to have anything like a healthy physical intimacy, she would have had to maintain careful boundaries between sex and anything that might make her feel her own strength and power shrink. A little playful wrestling with both partners using their whole bodies' strength might not upset the balance. But so much anger in the underpinnings of the bald-faced dominance he had projected had up-ended the apple cart.

"That's how it was from his point of view - he thought he had every right to whip us. He got my brothers that way, too. It was the same for all of us."

"Equality be damned, Lisbon. It wasn't the same. Oh, I don't doubt your father was too drunk to see that a bare-assed whipping on an adolescent girl is indecent. But that doesn't change the effect it had on you." His own breathing had taken on a gasping imperative. For a microsecond he was grateful his daughter had not survived her mother - what if the only thing protecting her from his inability to cope was her own death? A storm surge of sickness washed over him, leaving him gulping down an urge to throw up. For Lisbon's sake, he employed his own control to calm himself so she need not be distracted from the comfort and safety he wanted to give her. He said, "Precious, it was his responsibility to keep himself from crossing lines. You have to believe that - I know it in a way you can't. He failed you. You were not to blame. You are everything that is beautiful and sweet and good. Strong. Loving. The fault was not in you. "

He paused a moment, then continued, "You know there are two names now on my list of men I would kill if they weren't already dead."

"No."

"Lisbon, I swear if I could go back in time and stop him -" He gently drew her into a full embrace, one hand urging her head to rest on his shoulder.

She resisted. Looking him square in the face, she said, "No, just no. Don't take up anger for me like that. Blood on your hands won't make me less screwed up. You can't make it right for me by wanting to harm anyone else."

He was slow to speak, pausing like he was thinking aloud when he replied, "That's it, isn't it? You couldn't stop him, so you told yourself he wasn't really half a step away from molesting you. You needed your father to not be a monster, so you could be less broken."

He continued, "I understand it now. You need me not to be a murderer. You could stop me, so you needed to." Letting go of her, he dropped onto the arm of the couch, shoulders suddenly slumped, head down, like a marionette whose strings have been cut.

Then he looked directly into her eyes. "When I promised to save you, I thought I was saving your career from the consequences of being associated with me. I didn't know you needed me to save you from myself and your father - I didn't see that it would break you if I did the thing I wanted. And I didn't see how much you needed it to matter to me."

While she had gotten clear of the panic attack, she was now silently crying. A couple minutes later, Jane looked up at her. He got up and wrapped his arms around her again. "I wish I could promise that nothing will ever hurt you like that again, Lisbon. But it's a fool's promise; I couldn't keep it."

She leaned into him for a moment. Then, still crying, she pulled back out of his embrace. Going to the kitchen sink, she splashed her face with cool water, and dried off with a towel. Taking his hand, she led him upstairs to the bedroom. Lowering herself to the mattress, she laid down on her side with her back to the wall and reached an open hand toward him. He came to her, lying flat, a questioning look on his face as he did so. She simply closed her eyes. Her breathing was still ragged, but after a while it evened out, and she slept. He drifted off, but woke again with every movement she made.

It was fully light outside when she started awake. Seeing the gleam of his open eyes, she leaned over him. He wrapped an arm around her, and she rested her head on his chest. She quietly said, "When my mom died, dad told us 'funerals are for the living' - one wise thought left in him. He asked each of us what we wanted for hers. He somehow made it a beautiful, loving time, even when we were drowning in pain we didn't understand. Later, when things got bad, I sometimes wished someone else could die so that he could do for us again what he had then. I couldn't wish anyone else dead, so I thought I was willing to be the one. Everything hurt so much and I was so screwed up. Then he died, and I couldn't make his funeral good for my brothers."

"The rituals of grieving are for the living, Patrick Jane. It's time to remember you are not the only one left alive. Let's clean this wall today. Please?"

He gave no answer. His throat had constricted from unshed tears. After all that had gone between them that night, he would not refuse her, but found he did not have the strength to say it yet. She waited, and while she waited, she fell asleep again. It was after noon when she woke up.

"Go ahead. I can't. You do it for me." He eased himself out from under her, and gathered up his belongings. He looked hard at the face on the wall for a moment, then walked out of the room for the last time.


	15. Domus Hadeum chapter 15

Previously:

 _"Go ahead. I can't. You do it for me." He eased himself out from under her, and gathered up his belongings. He looked hard at the face on the wall for a moment, then walked out of the room for the last time._

* * *

 

Lisbon lay on the mattress for a while, trying to sleep, trying to rest, trying to hide from all her own painful emotions that had been stirred up in the earlier morning. Forty-five minutes after Jane left the room, she got up. Gathering cleaning supplies she studied the marks on the wall.

Her next move was to pull the mattress out of her way, making it easier for her to reach the stain. But she paused, finding she could not simply start work. She had an urge to mark the moment with some sign of reverence - respecting all the pain and loss Jane had endured as well as acknowledging the woman and child who had lived and died there. She fell back on singing hymns, starting with one that had been used at her father's funeral mass. "What Wondrous Love is This" had been an oasis of absurd beauty at the time. It welled up from her, suited to her alto voice. Singing steadily through the first verse, she began to move. If her voice cracked more than once as she worked, at least none in her audience would complain. Concentrating on singing helped steady her nerves. The somber joy of that hymn consecrated the act of cleaning.

Several verses of "Amazing Grace" were easier to get out without much thought. And by the time it was done, she was almost done. She finished cleaning the wall in silence. The music had done its job - both to mark the importance of what she was doing, and to insulate her from being overwhelmed by it.

In the quiet she could admit that when she had first contemplated taking this action without Jane's permission, part of her knew that ripping it away from him would do damage. That sliver of darkness in her that would have had satisfaction in his pain now shriveled up exposed to the light. She almost wondered at his willingness for it now, but the real wonderment was dedicated to him having asked her to undertake this task for him. It told of layers of trust far deeper than the superficial trust she assumed for most of their working partnership that he had in her - more of a sure knowledge that he could get her to back him up than a genuine, intimate trust. He had put into her hands the cleansing of his home. Like wiping away sin with divine love, she was wiping away the remnants of horror that had consumed his memories of his family and kept him from growing strong to bear up under the burden of grief.

To mark the end of the work, she sang "Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee" with her eyes closed against the tears of love that stung her.

IIIIIIIIIII

After this, she took a quick shower, washing her hair, and put on her clothes - jeans and shirt. She still had the cell phone, so she put it in her pocket. Making her way downstairs under an enormous burden of emotional exhaustion, she found that it was almost noon, and that the smell of chicken in the oven had her mouth watering. Before she got far enough to see that Jane was not in the house, the phone in her pocket rang.

She did not recognize the number on caller ID, but answered anyway.

"Patrick Jane's phone."

"Teresa Lisbon, you're awake. That's good. I put something in the oven then got distracted and left. It should be done by now. If you would check it, I would appreciate that. Maybe throw a spinach salad together. If you can stand to wait for me, I'll be home within forty-five minutes. We can reheat the chicken then."

"Jane?"

"Yes, my love?"

"Where the hell are you?"

"I remembered this morning that one of my neighbors is a real estate agent. I'm at her office. There's a lovely little shop that does tea and pastries on my way home. I'm told their coffee is more than passable. If you need a hit of caffeine before then, there's some strong tea in the pot. If you must pour it over ice, just don't tell me about it later."

"Right. I certainly wouldn't want to offend your tea-drinking sensibilities."

"Thank you, my dear. I'll be home soon. Goodbye!"

"Bye, Jane."

She shook her head just a bit before pushing the "end" button. Then she headed into the kitchen.

There was a knock at the door. Expecting the package with her clothes in it to be delivered at any time, Lisbon answered it. To her surprise Van Pelt had brought her overnight bag herself.

"Hi, Boss."

"Van Pelt, come on in. I didn't expect you to deliver that personally."

"I wanted to make sure you were ok." She took in the older woman's dark shadowed eyes, and general weariness and caught a glance of the bruise on her jaw. She recognized the shape of it, and knew that it was more invasively personal, more intimate, an injury than any accident.

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine. You look exhausted, and you didn't sound like yourself when we talked on the phone the other day. You said you were here because Jane needed a friend. I thought you could use a friend yourself." It was really bothering her, that Lisbon had fallen back on 'fine' when she so obviously was not. Her own protective instincts stirred up anger on Lisbon's behalf, that she had been backed into the kind of corner that led to this kind of covering. "He's not here right now, is he?"

"No. He just called to ask me to take chicken out of the oven. I need to do that. You might as well come through to the kitchen with me."

Van Pelt followed her. In the kitchen, after Lisbon wrangled the baking dish out of the oven, the younger woman said, "I brought your things, but I also got you a prepaid cell phone. It doesn't seem right, you having to borrow his all the time. So, here." Setting her bag down on the floor, she handed her the phone. "I had it loaded with two hundred minutes. I hope that's enough. I programmed in some of the usual numbers, too."

"Thanks, but you didn't have to do this, you know."

"Boss, we both have had training on dealing with situations where domestic abuse is involved. You are in a precarious place - far from home, limited contact with the outside world. You can make all the excuses for Jane that you want, but you have to know this isn't right."

"Van Pelt, I know what it looks like, but this is not abuse. I don't know what the hell it is, but he's not hurting me. You are just going to have to take my word on that."

"Would you, if you were me?"

"Look, he hasn't crossed the line. And if he did, I'm perfectly capable of knocking him back."

"Those are easy words to say, Boss, but we both know how hard it is to make them stick when someone you trusted is hurting you. And it's more than just the physical - Jane's an expert at using words and feelings to screw people up. Sometimes he has a purpose, but sometimes it seems like he does it for his own amusement. His feelings for you might protect you from that, but maybe not."

"Feelings for me?"

"It's pretty obvious to people who know both of you, that he looks at you, talks to you, thinks of you differently from anyone else. He has feelings for you. I'm not entirely certain what those feelings are, but they must mean something."

"Let's just talk about something else. I don't appreciate having to discuss Jane's feelings with anyone."

"Sure. What would you like to talk about?" Grace had begun to seethe for her, keeping it under wraps so that her own emotions would not get in the way of drawing Lisbon out. They all liked Jane, cared about him - but they respected and loved their boss. If he had gotten to her so deeply that she could no longer see she deserved the highest respect and love, it would be up to the rest of team, starting with Grace herself, to put a stop to it.

"Look, I'm not sure what you were thinking about doing down here, but I'm getting a salad ready to go with lunch, and you might as well stay and eat with us. If you need to use the bathroom, it's down the hall, second door on the left. Then, we have only water and tea to drink - so if you want something else you'll have to go get it."

Van Pelt decided she was happier drinking tea than she would be getting back in her car to get anything from the store. She focused her attention away from her own anger, trying to build a peaceful attitude that would foster a feeling of safety, so that it might be easier for Lisbon to ask for help if she needed it.

Having brought an apple and a banana to snack on on the road, she offered to add them to the tangerines for a fruit salad dressed with a simple mix of brown sugar and cinnamon, with a squeeze of lemon juice. When that was chilling in the refrigerator, Lisbon pumped her for details of the case the SCU were working on.

When Jane returned, he was mildly surprised to see the extra car in his driveway, even knowing to whom it belonged. He played a gracious host over lunch. The man turned on the charm, keeping to small talk while the three of them ate. Suspecting why Van Pelt had come, he knew at some point she would want to talk to him alone.

After cleaning up from their meal, he said, "Grace, you've never been here before, let me show you the patio. We can even walk down to the water if you like." He signaled Lisbon with his eyes to stay inside.

Grace readily followed him. Once outside, she said, very seriously, "Jane, you're hurting Lisbon. You're using her, or you are using sex to control her. Either way, it's going to stop."

"What did -"

"No," she cut him off. "She never said anything. You know she wouldn't. That bruise on her jaw? It says a lot. You didn't just get carried away. You marked her on purpose. I don't know why she's letting you get away with this. Anybody else would be toast by now - you've always been able to slide in under her skin in a way no one else can. You're usually more subtle about it, and you keep a careful layer of manners over it, but to someone who knows what to look for, you are very possessive of her, even dominating, especially when men outside the team are around. I haven't said anything before because it looked mostly harmless, and it wasn't really my business.

"But the thing is, now there's a look in her eyes. I know what it means - too many boundaries crossed. It's a look I've seen on the faces of women whose relationships are beginning to drain their souls. It's a warning sign, before the damage gets deeper. That's when it will be my business. I can't just bury my head when I have reason to believe someone is being abused. I'm a mandated reporter. It's pointless for you to lie about it. This is your warning to stop before you do something to her you can't take back."

"You know that look because you've seen it in the mirror."

"We're not talking about me."

"No, not you, someone you loved, but didn't know how to help because you were too young. She got killed, didn't she?"

"Stop deflecting, Jane. My past doesn't matter right now. We're talking about Lisbon." If he could guess at that so accurately, then he could guess just as well that she would do everything in her power to buy back some good from it by seeing to it she did not fail like that now. "What matters is, you are going to make this right with her - stop using her, step back to the other side of the lines you've over-ridden, tell her the truth about how you feel, let her go, whatever it takes. You make this right. Because here is what's going to happen - I'm coming back to check on her again in three days. If Lisbon hasn't come home - if she's still here and that look is still in her eyes, I will go to Rigsby and Cho, and I will tell them that you have been abusing her, sexually and emotionally."

She turned and started walking toward the front yard. "You have a good imagination. I expect you can fill in the blanks about what steps we will take after that. Tell the Boss I said 'goodbye'."

When she had decided to drive down to Malibu to check on them, Van Pelt had hoped that she would discover that she had read too much into the little signs she had picked up from Lisbon. But seeing just how worn down the older woman had been after just a few days alone with him had been an unpleasant surprise. Whatever had happened between them had obviously been more fraught than she had imagined. There was no way she could just leave Lisbon to Jane's devices with no lifelines away from him.

"Grace, wait," he called after her. She stopped and turned back to him.

"What I've done to Lisbon - it's worse than abuse. I don't think it's reportable, though," he said, a depth of seriousness in voice and face. This was no flippant, arrogant remark. "This house is my hell. After Red John was shot, she would not leave me alone, even when I begged her to."

She responded with a look that showed her doubt in his words, and showed her determination not to be taken in by his persuasive abilities.

"Lisbon insisted on coming with me, because she thought I might be a danger to myself. I was angry beyond reason - who knows, she might even have been right. But when Lisbon kept coming at me, I did the worst thing I could think of - I tried to drag her into hell with me, make her bed down in my torment.

"I've been my own prisoner here in hell for so long, even when I walked out in the world. And I was going to punish Lisbon for caring about me by trapping her here as well - metaphorically, not physically. I didn't, I did not force her. Funny thing is, she simply refused to let her soul whither up and die like mine has. And damned if she hasn't turned around and started yanking mine, kicking and screaming, back into life, too."

He could tell that Van Pelt was still not entirely satisfied. He owed some accounting to her, owed it to the rest of the team - the people who had Lisbon's back. He knew very well that the haunted look in his woman's eyes today had nothing to do with his own horror show, and everything to do with what he had inadvertently triggered from her past. He would rather die than open Lisbon to anyone else's scrutiny like that, though. So he stuck with telling his own tale.

"If Lisbon looks like I've put her through the wringer and hung her out to dry, it's only because this morning I asked her to do something that in seven years I have never found the strength to do." He paused. "And then I fled, leaving her to face it alone, because that is how pathetically weak I am."

He had to draw several deep breaths in order to continue. He was going to gut himself open to Van Pelt's probing mind to protect Lisbon's privacy. "She cleaned Red John's signature, my wife's blood, off the wall of my bedroom for me."

Grace's expression softened as the gravity of his revelation hit her. He so rarely spoke of his family, and never lightly, that this gruesome mention was a seal of authenticity for her. The infirmity of his soul must have been unfathomable to have lived under that sign. She looked at him closely, searching for evidence of the damage it would have done. There were slight changes in the way he held himself, in his color, and face - a lightening of countenance, that showed the weight of the harm done him by its absence. As she looked so closely at him, it also registered on her attention that his wedding ring was now on his right hand. She said, "Jane, I don't know what to say - "

There was a quiver in his voice when he added, "There's really nothing to say. It's ok."

He started walking toward her, to walk her to her car.

"We won't be here in three days. Tonight will be the last night. After that, I'm moving us to an inn. I haven't told Lisbon my plans, but I want to do it myself, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention it to her yet. I have things to take care of here, and I still need her with me. I think we'll be back in Sacramento before the weekend. Lisbon's got my phone - when I get it back from her, I'll text you with the number of the place so you know where she is."

"And Grace?"

"Yeah, Jane?"

"Thank you for trying to be here for Lisbon. If I ever do cross that line, make sure they don't find my body. Have a safe drive back." He waved and turned away as she got into her car.

* * *

 **A/N:** Once again LittleMender has proved invaluable to polishing this chapter. She reminded me that just because the shortest distance between two points is a wormhole in space does not mean that is the best way to write a story. (Yeah, nevermind, I don't understand what I just wrote, either). Just in case it is no longer easy to find this stuff out, a wringer is part of an old fashioned washing machine. Let's not even get started about ironing clothes with a mangler.


	16. Domus Hadeum, ch. 16

Author's Note: This story will wrap up in one more chapter. I guess I had better get writing it, then. To those who have submitted reviews that I can't respond to either because you were not signed in or because you have private messaging disabled, thank you.

When Jane came back into the house, he saw that Lisbon had been puttering around in the kitchen while waiting for him to come back inside.

"Grace said to tell you 'bye, and she'll see you back in Sacramento'."

"That's not what she said."

"No, but after about ten minutes of driving, she will wish she had added that."

"What did she say?"

"I'll get to that later. First, there is something I would have told you over lunch if we hadn't had an unexpected guest."

"Does it have to do with your stop at a realtor's office?"

"Good guess."

"I've been spending too much time with you; it must have rubbed off."

Eyes bright, he smirked, "Rubbed off? There hasn't been nearly enough of that yet."

"Shut up."

"If I do, I won't be able to tell you I'm putting the house on the market."

It was a big step, she knew. She was far from surprised, but once again the speed he dealt with the deepest emotional issues once he had decided to face them gave her a bit of a shock. Not knowing how to respond other than to fall back on practicality, she said, "We need to get some Kilz."

He grimaced and said, "That's a terrible name. Who comes up with that stuff? Someone got paid to think of it, and now everyone else is stuck with it."

She restrained herself from rolling her eyes at him, but did glare at him pointedly. "Do you want to paint the whole room, or just do that one wall? It might be hard to match the colors, so you might want to make it an accent wall."

"I want to be done with it. I'll talk to Megan about hiring painters. Will you put the primer over... for me?"

"Of course. Megan's the realtor?"

He nodded. "Let's go."

They walked out to the Citroen together. The trip to the hardware store took only a few minutes. Soon they were walking back into the house together only to separate at the stairs. Lisbon took the paint and supplies up while Jane headed to the kitchen.

IIIIIIIII

It had not taken her long, as she only covered the one specific area with primer. Once she read the instructions on the can a little more carefully, she almost regretted only getting a quart. It would have been better to cover the whole wall. But it was white-ish paint with white primer over it. Professional painters should scarcely find it a challenge to get the wall covered decently.

Jane stood in the kitchen, with a pomegranate in one hand and a knife in the other, when she walked in. When he had cut the top and bottom off the fruit in his hand, he scored the rind and pulled it apart in sections. He was silent for a few moments while he worked at it. Then he said, "I had an interesting conversation with Van Pelt. She can be rather scary when she is determined to protect someone."

"It's annoying. She seems to think I have Stockholm Syndrome or I'm enabling you somehow."

"She came down here because she cares about you. If I had gone too far - if I were harming you, she would have your back. You are too proud of your ability to take care of yourself, Lisbon. You might be more vulnerable to the kind of damage I can do than you realize. The part of you that thinks it's not so bad if a trip to the emergency room isn't needed is a little too ready to make excuses for me. She was right not to ignore warning signs she saw. But all in all, I'd rather square off with all of your brothers at once for the 'what are your intentions toward our sister' talk than face Grace the Fierce again."

"Oh? Have you got an easy answer for them?"

"For them, the answer is 'not your concern until Teresa makes it your concern.' Which might earn me a beating except I'm sure they are all scared of you. But uncomfortable as it is on the business end of it, investigating abuse and protecting others is part of Grace's job. I would respect her less if I realized she saw things the way she did and ignored it. How much contempt have we had for local law enforcement officers who turn blind eyes to abuse?" His eyes bored into hers as he handed her a section of pomegranate. She took it and nibbled a few seeds.

"There is something I have been wondering for a long time, and I think I need to ask," Lisbon said.

"Go ahead."

"What were you like, before - at home, not putting on a show? How were you with your wife and daughter?"

"How can I answer a question like that? I remember things I did; I didn't always know how those things felt to them."

"Things you did?"

"Mistakes I made, times I was selfish - knowing how to get under almost everyone's skin doesn't necessarily mean knowing a single thing about being loving or intimate."

"Are we going to end up proving Van Pelt right?"

He waited a moment, face cast down, eyes hidden, before answering, "I never lifted a hand in anger to either of them."

Inhaling deeply, he continued speaking, slowly, "I did better by my daughter than my father did by me. I don't know if it was really good enough. She was happy and brilliant and wonderful, probably in spite of me. It was easy to love her." He took a breath, and continued in a quieter voice, "If I had had a son I might have fallen into the trap of repeating the old oedipal conflicts with him.

"My wife - she cured me of trying to manipulate her long before I ever thought I had a chance with her. She just looked at me - angry and disappointed - walked away, wouldn't speak to me. I didn't work up the nerve to talk to her again for a month." At that, he turned away from her, needing a bit of privacy after exposing himself like that, and busied himself making tea.

She sat at the counter watching him and thinking while she finished her section of pomegranate. She waited for him to take a sip then she got up and said, "So, you're saying you want to meet my brothers?" before walking out of the kitchen. She heard him cough, and it made her grin.

IIIIIIIIII

Lisbon had gone into the living room. Relaxing on the couch, she had taken up the book of crossword puzzles, and found one that Jane had not started yet. After a while, he came in and almost sheepishly asked her to go for a walk on the beach with him. When she got up, he took her hand and held it as they left the house.

They walked for half an hour before returning to the house. They finished the leftovers of pizza, antipasto, and fruit salad for dinner then spent some time cuddled up on the couch. She finished her puzzle, occasionally asking Jane for words she could not think of. He played a few games on his cell phone, sent Van Pelt the text message he had promised, then started to pick up Lisbon's historical romance.

"Hey, get your own book. That one's mine."

"Trade?"

"Here." She gave him the puzzle book, and took the novel. A few pages into it she started, her eyes started to close and her head nodded. He wrapped his arm around her, easing her into a more relaxed slouch against him. He took the book out of her hand and laid it on the back of the couch, faced down and open so she would not lose her page.

When she showed signs of waking, Jane whispered, "Don't sleep up there tonight. Stay here with me, please. I meant for us to go somewhere else, but they don't have room for us until tomorrow night."

"Somewhere else?"

"It's a nice bed and breakfast, attached to a family-run vineyard. Megan knows them. This time of year, on short notice it was lucky they had anything available. If it weren't a Wednesday, I doubt even my charm and Megan's connections could have gotten us a room anywhere better than an executive suites hotel. And we can only have it through Friday night.

"It's going to take me a couple of days to get everything settled. You can tell Hightower we'll be back to work on Monday if you like, or we could take more time."

"I'll call her in the morning. I can't remember the last time I took a whole week off. I need to get back."

"This was no vacation for you, my dear Lisbon. You need to get some rest."

Jane shifted them lower on the couch so they could both lie down and sleep. She dozed a while more, waking with a start at an unfamiliar noise, sudden enough to make her jump. Forgetting where she was, rolling over made her fall off the couch. Landing on her butt, she got her breath back, groaned, and began to get up.

Jane leaned over, determined she was uninjured, and said, "I was almost hoping you'd use profanity so I could say, 'Not on that floor, it's too hard on my knees.'"

She grabbed the pillow from under his head and threw it at his shoulder. He grasped her arm and pulled her close enough to kiss. The angle was awkward, and so was his chuckling. Smirking, she said, "You snore." Then she used a bit of leverage to pull him part way off the couch for a slightly better kiss and to put him off balance.

"Left hand, green. Lisbon, I can either slither the rest of the way off with you to cushion the fall, or you can help me get back on the couch so I can get up with a shred or two more dignity than you. And I do not snore."

"Right foot, blue. Let me scoot out from under you, then I'll help you up," she rolled onto her stomach and scooted backwards. She got up, and hooked her arm under his to get him back onto the couch. "Too bad about your knees. Oh yes, you do snore. That's the first time I ever heard you do that."

He sat up, then stood. They were inches apart. He ducked his head toward hers, and she stretched up to meet him. He said, "I never snored before, I'm certainly not going to start now. Take it back," in a low, serious voice. His nose next to hers, breath warm on her face, he slowly moved his lips closer to hers then suddenly changed direction to nip her nose gently. He immediately backed away out of arm's reach.

Indignantly she said, "I can outrun you."

"What makes you think I'd mind if you tackled me?"

"Your creaky old knees."

"Give me a head start? I'll go outside and you can take me down on the beach."

"Sounds like a perfect way to end up with sand in places I really don't want sand."

"You'd be walking funny for a week, and that would do my ego no end of good."

"Little soon to get smug over obvious displays of your prowess, isn't it?"

"You want a more discreet display of my prowess? Where?"

"Where what?"

"You objected to a motel and the beach. I object to the floor. The stools in the kitchen are the wrong height. That leaves the couch or the car, woman. You pick."

"Too bad all the laundry's done."

"What?"

"You heard me. Since we're stuck with popular adolescent choices, we might as well include the washing machine. Put a load of laundry in the wash, and in addition to extra sensation, it has the side benefit of covering a certain amount of noise for added privacy. Bonus points for getting chores done with a minimum of complaining. Also? Less likely to lead to indecent exposure charges than the car."

"This really shows a different side of you, Lisbon. I'm impressed."

"Are you impressed enough to go to the drugstore?"

"Right. Are they open yet?"

"This is your town, why are you asking me?"

"What time is it?"

"I'm not wearing my watch. Where's your phone?"

"How should I know? All the blood's rushing away from my brain."

"It's got to be after seven o'clock. Just go."

"Right."

He straightened up his shirt, and put his vest on, then grabbed the car keys and left. Twenty minutes later, he returned with an utterly chagrined expression on his face. In response to her raised eyebrow, he choked out an explanation, "I forgot my wallet."

She chortled and said, "Patrick Jane, you are the only man I know who can take his life from Greek Tragedy to screwball comedy in less than twenty-four hours."

"It's not funny."

"Oh, I don't know. I think most women are highly amused at how rattled men can get simply from buying condoms. Come into the kitchen, I'll make you some pancakes."


	17. Chapter 17

Author's note: My apologies for the length of time it is taking me to finish this story. When I started it back in the summer I never dreamed it would end up this complex or lengthy. While I said before that this would be the final chapter, having written it, I do feel an epilogue coming on. All my writerly love to those who have hung on this long with me, and to those who have encouraged me to keep going. Once again, a big round of applause for LittleMender (whether she likes it or not) because without her help this fic would either not be as good, as sharp, as tight, or it would have taken me ages more to manage it all on my own.

Previously: She chortled and said, "Patrick Jane, you are the only man I know who can take his life from Greek Tragedy to screwball comedy in less than twenty-four hours."

"It's not funny."

"Oh, I don't know. I think most women are highly amused at how rattled men can get simply from buying condoms. Come into the kitchen, I'll make you some pancakes."

IIIIIIIIII

 

Jane managed the setting like he had been preparing for a wedding night - found a small bed and breakfast up in the mountains with suites designed for a romantic getaway. The family that ran it also had a vineyard and winery. He had enlisted the help of the real estate agent to find it, and was glad that Megan had been able to help - spur of the moment reservations at such places were not easily come by. This one was just far enough inland, and far enough away from L.A. to not be booked solid in the middle of the week. They would have two nights there then head back to Sacramento. He was done with the house, and was bringing Lisbon away from it.

He located a flower shop that specialized in arrangements based on the language of flowers, offering a wider variety of less common blooms. A conversation with a florist there yielded a design featuring honeysuckle, ivy, lily of the valley, and blue violets, bearing a legend card revealing bonds of love, friendship, return of happiness, and faithfulness as their message. It was to Jane's advantage that the card could be customized, as some of the alternate meanings pushed too far into talk of marriage. However pleased he was in the underlying significance, he knew Lisbon would be discomfited by an overt mention. Next to the more elaborate arrangement was a pot of red tulips with a card telling the legend of a Turkish prince whose tragic tale lead to them having the meaning of perfect love. He then enlisted the courier company Megan's office used to pick up the flowers in Santa Monica and deliver them to the B&B in Moorpark.

Requesting a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses to await them in their room was no difficulty. They did not run any sparkling wines, so he had to make do. One of their proudest offerings was a dry red zinfandel that they were happy to serve with a tray of cheese and dark chocolates.

The place was an hour's drive from Malibu - close enough it would not be difficult to finish up loose ends with the house, yet far enough away as to feel like a fresh start.

IIIIIIIIIII

Upon arrival, Jane ushered her into their room. When she exclaimed over the beauty of the flowers, he said, "Lisbon, you should be surrounded by bunches of the most beautiful blossoms. Anything less would look like dried grasses next to you."

She grinned and replied, "Flattery will get you nowhere, but flowers and booze might move things along nicely."

He grinned back, happy for this sign that she was beginning to shed the burden of emotional exhaustion she had carried for both of them. He kissed her once on the mouth, nuzzled her cheek, and guided her to sit at the small table.

While nibbling on the cheese and chocolate and sipping on the wine, they talked of inconsequential things that neither would remember later. When they were done Jane said, "I don't want this to go the way it did the night before last. You're in charge now. I just want to ask two things."

"Go ahead."

"Will you undress for me, please?"

"And what else?"

"When," it was hard for him to say, so he hesitated a bit, "when you are ready for me - "

She cocked one eyebrow at his hesitance, gave a little smirk and prompted, "When I'm ready for you to screw me?"

He gave a low growl of discomfiture at her crudity. "Let me see your eyes when I'm inside you," his voice broke over the last word, "please."

Desire flowing through her at his words, Lisbon began by kicking her shoes off. Then she unbuttoned the top three buttons on her shirt, and shrugged off her blazer. She crooked her finger at him, and he stepped up to her. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she brought his face to hers, touching lips, touching mouths, touching tongues. She pushed his jacket off his shoulders and began unbuttoning his vest. He put all the heat he felt into their kiss, reluctant now to put his hands on her without invitation. She finished getting his vest off him then with hands on his shoulders pushed him back two steps. Her hands went to her own shirt, resuming the task of getting it off. When it slipped to the floor, she undid her fly and pushed her jeans half way down her hips.

Beckoning him closer, she kissed him again then brushed her lips over his jaw, wet kisses pressed on the corner by his ear. While sucking his earlobe into her mouth, she got his shirt off him. Nuzzling her way from his ear to the base of his throat, she licked his collarbone then blew on it. The sensation of cool air on his jaw, ear, and neck reminded him of what he had done to her that first morning at his house. She was marking him in turn, gently, in her own way. The realization brought a low, rumbling moan out of him; where he had been half-hard in anticipation, arousal surged to full hardness.

Again she propelled him back. Pushing her jeans all the way to the floor, she stepped out of them and stepped toward him. He leaned down so their mouths met. She nudged him back till he sat on the bed. To increase the tease, she turned around, reached behind her and unsnapped her bra. Leaning forward until the straps fell off her shoulders, she dropped it to the floor. Then she eased her panties over one hip at a time, dropping them as well. Now that she was completely bare, she looked over her shoulder to say, "Pants off, Patrick," and turned to face him.

Seeing her so comfortable in her saucy strip act gave him made aware of her ease and trust in him. He stood up, in-drawn breath, eyes darker than ever, and moved toward her. Reaching a hand to her face, he stroked her cheek with his palm and kissed her. Her hands went to his waist, unbuckling the belt and opening his fly.

"Do you really need to be told twice to take off your pants?"

"No, I'll get right to it," and he pushed them down his legs, and eased the rest of his clothing off. She reached behind his head to pull him in for another kiss, the other reaching for his erection. He gently caught her wrist and said, "Please - not yet. If you let me touch you first, I'll have a sporting chance of not embarrassing myself."

"I thought I was in charge?"

"Please?"

She acquiesced by wrapping that arm around his shoulders and nuzzling his neck. He ran his hands up and down the bare skin of her sides, caressing her hips.

"Into bed," she ordered, "now." And he obeyed, going to the other side so she would have room. She laid down, rolling on her side, facing him. "Touch me."

"You are beautiful. I should have said before, but you are so stunning I couldn't say it," he said, rolling so they were face to face. He leaned over and kissed her shoulder. "So delicately sculpted." He propped himself up on one elbow and caressed her arm from the shoulder he had kissed down to her hand which he then drew to his mouth. He kissed the palm and whispered into it, "So beautiful."

"Skin so smooth," he murmured - softly enough she scarcely heard him as he traced his fingertips over the center of her chest. His lips caressed the path his fingers had just gone. Placing a kiss below her navel he continued, "So lovely." He kissed his way back up her body, brushing his sensitive mouth over her skin, breathing her in. His fingers stroked up her side, gliding over ribs, teasing around the outside of her breast.

The heat of the moment incinerated his resolution to protect her from fears of the past. He got lost in her, forgetting to follow her lead. He kissed the top of her breast, and nipped her shoulder. Kissing her mouth again and again, he leaned over her, pushing her so she lay flat on her back, pinning her arm above her head.

Their mouths moved fiercely together. He pushed her legs apart with his knee. When she took a deep breath, his blood turned to ice water. He pulled back, abashed, remembering what had happened when he had asserted control before.

"It's ok," she whispered breathlessly, trying to reassure him. "You're not pushing too hard."

"I don't ever want you to feel like that again when you're with me. I made a mess of it, from first to last. If I were man enough, I'd let you go so you could love someone who won't send you into a panic attack. But I need you too much - I'm too selfish."

"Stop. You have to stop blaming yourself for the horrible things that happen to people you love. You did not cause that."

"No? I didn't cause you to beg me not to punish you? I didn't go right ahead and shove you over that couch? I didn't - " The more he talked the more his heat and blood retreated.

"Hold on. How did you get from making love with me to wallowing in self-loathing in less than a minute? Never mind. Don't answer that. I'm in charge here. Look at me, right now. Tell me what you see." She ran her hand over her chest.

"I see the hardened nipples of two perfect breasts, slightly engorged. Your skin is flushed warm."

She blushed a bit in pleasure at his admiration. Laying hold of his hand, she guided it to her breast. Together their fingers circled it, spiraling in until they brushed over her nipple. Bringing their hands down her abdomen, she angled her leg, leaving her knees akimbo. Running their fingers over her mons, she then rubbed their fingers down, opening herself to his inspection. "And what do you feel here?"

Pressing the heel of his palm against her as she pushed herself up into his hand, he stroked a finger into her. Both of them groaned as he felt the slick proof of how eager she was. He started curling his finger in and sliding out over her clit. His own desire returned in full force.

With a smirk, she asked, "And what does that tell you?"

"You're aroused - and you want this, want me."

He pulled his hand away from her as hers left off guiding his. She caressed up his arm from his hand to his shoulder. She soothed her palm over his cheek then caressed her own cheek, "And what do you see here? Do you see how I trust you? Do you see that I love you?"

He choked out, "Yes."

"Then you can believe me when I tell you it is time to set aside the ugly past - be with me here and now. It is time for us to make love. It is time for you to touch me," she commanded. "If I see any signs of you thinking of anything other than how to please me, you will regret it."

"Yes, Mistress."

"What are you, the tin dog? Don't call me that."

"Yes, my Queen?"

She snorted a laugh, "That's better. Now stop stalling and put your hands and lips on me."

He started by drawing figure-eights over her skin between her breasts and her hips, teasing shivers of pleasure out of her as his fingers skated nearer and nearer to overt erogenous zones. When he did finally touch his mouth to her lips at the same time he brushed his fingers over her nipple, the area was so sensitized that she could not stop herself from moaning his name and pleading with him not to stop. He obliged by continuing, alternating from one to the other until she quivered with need.

"Patrick, now. I need to feel your mouth there, please."

While he suckled at her left breast, his fingers made their way back to her center. After a moment, her hand joined his so her fingers could guide him in the touches that would send cascades of pleasure through her whole body, skimming circles around her clit until she shivered and smoldered.

When she could wait no longer, she pushed him back. Straddling his hips, she grabbed for a foil packet. He moaned helplessly while she rolled the condom down and guided his hard length to her entrance. She sank down onto him, her eyes drifting shut as she took a deep breath. She circled her hips, giving herself time to adjust to the intrusion.

Reaching to caress her cheek, he said, "Let me see your eyes, my love. Please, Teresa."

She opened her eyes, locking on his. Innumerable waves of passion passed between them, tempered by tenderness. Her inner muscles bearing down, eyes fluttering shut then open again, she leaned forward, rocking her hips. Together their breath came faster and heavier. Once again, she took his hand to teach him what she needed. Bringing it up to her breast, breathing out one word, "Teeth."

As he obeyed the thought if not the word with a tweak of his fingers, a bolt of sensation shot from her nipple to her womb, cascading her into orgasm. The strength of her muscles tightening around him brought him closer and closer to the edge himself. When she stilled, he began thrusting up against her, setting his own pace. She joined in his rhythm after a few moments, coming back to her senses, riding him up and down until he grasped her hips to hold her still while he pushed harder against her, his own pleasure tumbling his mind and body. Though he had begged her to meet his eyes, to see what was in her heart and what flowed through her body, in the end he could not keep his own open. It was too much. There were too many shades and colors of emotion bestride him, cantering at an uneven pace - love, pleasure, guilt, grief, tenderness, fear.

She rolled off him. Putting her mouth against his, her arms around him, she saw the shuddering breaths that did not subside as they would if they only came from exertion. Tears glistening against his eyelashes told her how far beyond overwhelmed he was. She kissed his eyelids and the bridge of his nose.

When he gained enough control to slow his breath and speak, he said, "I can't, I'm sorry, I can't explain - "

"Shh, it's all right. You don't have to explain yourself to me now. You only have to be here with me."

"I'm not going anywhere unless you send me away."

After quickly cleaning himself up, he kissed her again, an arm snaking around her waist to bring her closer, inviting her to cuddle, stroking her arm as she did so. Their exertions added to days of weariness drew them down into sleep - restful, healing sleep.

Sometime around 3 a.m. Lisbon woke to find the man spooned against her back with one hand roaming a wide circuit over the bare skin of her belly.

"Awake now, love?" he whispered.

"Mmhmm."

"May I touch you more?"

"Mmhmm."

His fingers skimmed over her breasts, palm rubbing over first one nipple then the other, gently kneading each in turn. He nuzzled her neck, below her ear, nipping with the slightest pressure.

She turned her head to their lips could meet, and reached behind her to run her hand over him. He got harder. Instinctively rocking his hips into her touch, he took her hand to nuzzle and kiss her palm while he pressed his hips so his erection began to nudge its way between her legs. He let go of her hand to stroke up her arm, gently pulling her shoulder back and down a bit so she lay with her upper body turned a little toward him, making it easier for them to kiss. He returned his attention to where it had been, spreading his fingers wide over her breast then drawing them together to lightly pinch her nipple. When he switched to her other breast, she hummed in satisfaction, so he continued the massage for some time, alternating from one side to the other. She hitched her top leg up, resting it over his thigh, opening herself so she could stroke her clit and his erection at the same time.

After a few moments of this she guided him to her entrance, and ordered, "Quit fooling around, Patrick. Fuck me."

"Yes, Boss," he said, grinning.

Kissing her again, he gently pushed in, moving at a languid pace. She turned her shoulders back so she was completely on her side again. The arm he had been propped up on, he inched under and around her, holding her close so her back was pressed to his chest. He surrounded her with warmth and strength. Taking his other hand in hers, she guided it to her center. Their intertwined fingers rubbed circles around her clit.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, murmuring against her skin, "I need you, I love you," over and over until she wanted to weep from thinking about all the time he had been alone.

All she could think to say in response was, "I'm here." She repeated it to him, their call and response becoming a litany of union, sanctifying this space. Time was suspended - minutes stretched into eons, hours condensed into moments.

Her awareness contracted down to the feel of his body around hers, inside hers. Slow-building waves of pleasure surged through Lisbon's body, an extended orgasm shivering over her awareness until she begged him for mercy - she needed a break. His movements slowed, allowing her to come down. Her breathing slowed as she returned to her senses and she noticed the tension in all his muscles.

Turning her head to face him, she whispered, "Holding back?"

He nodded wordlessly. What his body wanted - her face down beneath him - he was unwilling to ask. More than that, he was unwilling to explain it to her. This was his penance for all that he had demanded of her, and how it had broken her.

"Tell me," she urged.

"Can't."

"What do you need?" She kissed him reached behind her to stroke her fingers through his hair.

"Shower. Come with me. I want to finish in the shower. Please." He took her hand, kissing the back of it. Then he started to get up. She felt a boneless, pleasurable inertia but was confused and concerned why he had not taken his release already. She made the effort to get up and follow him.

Running the water as hot as they could stand it, they stood together under the spray. He guided her hand to his erection. She started to handle him, stroking up and down. With his hand over hers, he implored her to grip tighter and go faster. His release came in a few short minutes. Taking turns washing each other, the rest of their time under the water turned into a rite of tenderness rather than of sensuality. After getting out and toweling off, he cupped one hand around her neck to draw her closer. He kissed one eyelid then the other, then rested his forehead against hers.

"Think you can sleep?" She asked.

He nodded and she led him back to bed. Once again he ended up spooning against her back, his arm holding her closely, their legs entangled. It was this that made her wonder if there was some necessity in him, bone-deep, for this position. But sleep called her more strongly than curiosity and she never asked the question.

IIIIIIIIII

Jane had been up at the crack of dawn, after getting another hour of sleep. Awareness of having her in his arms made it all the sweeter. Quietly getting up, he wrapped the blankets around her so she would not be disturbed by the chill in his absence.

Dressing quickly, he showed up for breakfast at the first allowable moment, and began dropping hints on Lisbon's behalf immediately. Using his charm, his vociferous appreciation for the man's scrambled eggs, and a certain amount of playing for sympathy, Jane convinced the patriarch who put the breakfast in the Bed & Breakfast to give Lisbon a dispensation from the posted hours for serving hot food. He had hated the thought of waking her, but strongly believed that a muffin and coffee were grossly insufficient for restoring mental and physical strength and resilience.

She eventually got up and dressed after ten in the morning. Once properly caffeinated and nourished, she appeared more relaxed and healthy than he had seen her in months - years, even.


	18. Chapter 18

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**Domus Hadeum: Epilogue**

 **Author's Note:** Continued thanks to LittleMender for having my back literarily, as well as to all those who review and comment. Seriously, readers who enjoyed this story owe some gratitude to the people who made me want not only to keep going with this story but also not settle for slapping down any old words just to get it over and done. And boy howdy, did I ever want to be done with this fic ages ago. Also, the last two lines are courtesy of the Man of the house (and the Warner Brothers, now that I think of it).

Previously: _Dressing quickly, he showed up for breakfast at the first allowable moment, and began dropping hints on Lisbon's behalf immediately. Using his charm, his vociferous appreciation for the man's scrambled eggs, and a certain amount of playing for sympathy, Jane convinced the patriarch who put the breakfast in the Bed & Breakfast to give Lisbon a dispensation from the posted hours for serving hot food. He had hated the thought of waking her, but strongly believed that a muffin and coffee were grossly insufficient for restoring mental and physical strength and resilience._  


* * *

  
She eventually got up and dressed after ten in the morning. Once properly caffeinated and nourished, she appeared more relaxed and healthy than he had seen her in months - years, even.

After breakfast he left Lisbon on her own for a few hours, returning to Malibu to attend to a few details - like contacting the painters recommended by Megan and approving the realtor's idea of leasing some carefully chosen furnishings to scatter around the house to fire up the imaginations of potential purchasers. While he was gone, Lisbon strolled around the grounds of the bed and breakfast and took advantage of the whirlpool in their suite.

When he got back they drove into town and found a little bistro to stop in for lunch. Discovering Moorpark College's theater department were performing "Harvey", he insisted on getting tickets for that night's show. The rest of the afternoon, they spent wandering into little shops, including a visit to a little boutique where he bought her shoes to go with the green dress to wear that night. In contrast to the pain and pressure of the week they had just gone through, this turned out to be a magically relaxed day.

Returning to their room after the play, they got into bed together. Lisbon succumbed to sleep right away. Jane lay awake, holding her. It was a restless night for him. The years of living in a state of insomnia had established a deeply ingrained pattern that would take more than finding closure for tragedy to erase. He went through relaxation exercises, and occupied his mind by concentrating on the sensual and emotional enjoyment of the moment. At least once, he found himself near tears again as he was inundated by grief and guilt and love. He did not try to sort out the proportions of each that were attached to which of the women in his heart. Eventually, his mind wound down enough to fall asleep, so he got a couple of hours of rest.

They ate breakfast together, then climbed into the Citroen to drive back to Sacramento. Jane dropped Lisbon at the CBI parking garage so she could pick up her own car. An hour later she was clearing spoiled food out of her refrigerator when he knocked on the door. She had been enjoying the quiet.

He brought in a suit bag with bulging pockets - toiletries and underwear. She quirked up an eyebrow at the sight.

"Come on, woman. You're not going to make me sleep in my motel room. The couch in your office is more of a home to me than that empty place. It's a month to month lease and I'll keep paying up there if you want me to. So anytime you want a night to yourself, I can make myself scarce. But -"

He took a breath and continued, "Not just yet, please." His impatience gave way to genuine pleading. His need of her had not come close to being satiated, and the upheaval of the last week made him turn to her for anchorage. His eyes were open for her to read. "I don't want to be there by myself right now."

Lisbon saw the depth of his need, and her craving for time alone shuffled into the back of her mind. "Hang your suits up in the closet. There's room."

She turned to go back into the kitchen and get back to work. Laying the bag over her sofa, Jane followed her. He tapped her shoulder. When she turned around, he wrapped a hand around the back of her neck, and drew her into a kiss, sweet and gentle.

"Thank you," he whispered. Here in Sacramento, under her roof, he lost the territorial advantage. Although he had been willing to put some effort into persuading her to let him stay, he was relieved that his own craving - for her to want him around - would not be denied now.

Before taking his clothes up to her bedroom, he went back out to his car. Bringing the flowers into her kitchen, Jane asked, "Have you ever forced bulbs?"

"Have I ever what?"

"Apparently not. We'll have to put the tulip bulbs in the refrigerator for a few months before next winter to get them to bloom again."

"Great. You can be in charge of that."

"Unless you take the notion to move back to Chicago, and buy a house - in which case we can plant them in the garden."

"Have you ever been to Chicago in winter? There's a reason I moved to California." The implication that he would be content to follow her on a cross-country move was not lost on her, but she put the thought to the back of her mind.

They spent the rest of that day puttering. She put him to work cleaning, so they were side by side in that as well as when they relaxed in front of the television. Their return to Sacramento in the early afternoon on Saturday did not usher in anything that could ever resemble "Happily Ever After". Fortunately they were both too experienced to expect it. The best anyone can hope for is a moment or two of magic mixed in with scrubbing the toilet and picking up the dry cleaning.

On Sunday evening, in the kitchen of Lisbon's apartment, she was putting together a salad for herself and leaving Jane to forage on his own. She felt him at her back. He nuzzled her ear. Her movements slowed as all her conscious thoughts were overtaken by his presence.

"Keep going. You need to eat more than just lettuce. You'll need your strength later," he whispered into her ear.

"Then stop distracting me."

"I have to touch you like this. It's a condition of existence." To punctuate his words, he pressed closer, molding his body to her back.

She stilled. It came to her that in the few mornings they had been together, she always woke to find him spooned against her back. No matter how they started the night - whether she collapsed onto him, spent after love-making, with her head resting on his chest, or they crawled into bed separately, exhausted - at some point before dawn he would be curled up around her.

More than once in their physical union he had worked under her direction to bring her to orgasm then pulled out, asking for satisfaction from her hand or mouth. She wanted to ask him if it was control or just the position that he needed. A mental image of handcuffing herself to her headboard and allowing him to take his pleasure in her body flashed through her mind and turned her knees to water. But in the same instant, she knew it was not what they needed.

"It was being pushed down and stripped that was the trigger, that night, Patrick. You know that, right? If you want to screw me from behind, all you have to do is ask. Mm, I like full body contact better than just joining at the hips."

At her words, arousal flooded him. He let go and took a step back.

"Problem?" she asked.

"No - but it seems to be in my best interest to let you eat quickly."

"Who says I'm planning to eat quickly?"

"Are you trying to torture me?"

"Yes." Lisbon grinned. She finished putting her salad together and sat down with it. "Exertion right after eating sounds like a recipe for a stomach ache. l think I'll read for a while when I'm done."

"You can try."

After she was done, she took out her book and settled in on her couch. Jane sat next to her. It began as flirtatious touches - stroking her arm, caressing her belly over her shirt. But soon he flicked a couple of buttons open then moved his hand closer to her breasts, sliding over her shirt, then under the opening he had made. She held on to her book, pretending to read, while he slipped his hand into her bra and firmly massaged one breast. Urging her to stretch out, he shifted so he was behind her. He pressed his lips to her shoulder, and caught her nipple in the webbing between thumb and forefinger. To get to her other breast to do the same to it, he opened a couple more buttons until her shirt was undone.

When his hand traveled down her chest to her belly, making circles around her belly button, she moaned, a bit disappointed. Slowly he tugged at the button of her jeans. As his hand pushed below the waist band, the zipper opened part way. He slid his fingers under the waist band of her panties, and traced a zigzag pattern down her lower abdomen between her hips.

Pulling his hand from inside her clothing, he drew the zipper all the way down. Then he took the book out of her hands and flung it across the room. "You look lovely every day, my dear, but this may be my favorite look for you. If I were in charge of the world, the palace dress code would forbid you buttoning things up," he said in a low voice, tickling her ear with his breath.

He brought his hand back up to tease her nipples again.

"Do you really want every man on the planet to see me looking like I'm ready for a good lay?"

"They're welcome to look all they like. I'm the one who's getting you ready and laying you." His other hand snaked under her, caressing the skin under her breasts. Then he wrapped his whole arm around her, so that he could massage her chest. This freed up the first hand to return, sliding down into her panties to glide over her opening. One finger dipped into her core to find her wetness and draw it up, making his finger's dance around her clit slick and sweet and burning.

"But you'll be," she was panting so it was getting harder to talk, "So busy... mmm... ruling the world... yeah... when will you have time?"

"I'll find a way - maybe fit you in between conferences with regional governors. Yes, you can stroll into my office looking pleasantly disheveled. My lieutenants will plot to kill me for the chance to comfort you in your hour of grief so they can seduce you. Then I'll have to arrest them all. And I don't like where this is going, so I'll step down from office. Who knew ruling a planet would be so worrisome?" His hands slowed down as he talked.

Lisbon noticed. "Patrick?"

"Yes, Teresa?"

"Little less plotting to take over the world, lot more action, if you please."

"As you wish." He redoubled his efforts to drive her crazy. The finger that had been circling started sliding up and down over her clit. Then, joined by a second finger, it slipped inside her. Pressing there with his fingers, and against her clit with the heel of his palm, he soon had her humming in pleasure as her breathing got deeper. Rocking her hips against his hand, she reached mindlessly behind her, running her fingers through his hair, trying to turn enough to kiss him.

His arms tightened, not allowing enough movement to accomplish her goal. He nipped and suckled at her earlobe. "Let me do this for you. Let me make you feel good," he spoke low, almost in a whisper. "I've got you."

She was getting close to orgasm, each breath a moan, she needed just a bit more, just a little deeper, to bring her over the edge. One of her hands went to the breast that was not being attended to by his. He watched her pinch her own nipple, and slowed his fingers.

"Umm, no, don't stop," she pleaded.

"Trust me, love." He eased his fingers out of her, running his palm over her entrance, gentle pressure keeping up her arousal.

"Need more. Please."

He brought his wet fingers up to the nipple she was toying with. Brushing her fingers out of the way, he rubbed a trace of moisture over it. Angling his head over her shoulder, he pursed his lips and blew toward it. She gasped as the cool air dispersed over her skin. He rolled her nipples between his fingers, both sides at the same time. Then he brushed his fingers around the outside of her breasts where her skin was ticklish, feather-light touches soft enough to delight without tickling. Circling back in toward her nipples, his fingers skimmed over them, more sensitized than ever. She was lost in his arms, feeling what he intended her to feel, goose-bumps forming in waves all over her skin, sweet tension releasing. When his hand slid back into her panties, a single finger circled her clit, barely touching the surface, around and around. He had discovered that this kind of stimulation would take her to impossible heights of pleasure without pushing over the edge of climax. She needed to be filled as well as teased. The blazing, honeyed torment made her hold herself rigid in his arms.

"Now, please. Now," she begged. "Need you inside me. Can't wait any more."

His own arousal began to master him. "Upstairs, on the bed."

"Can't move."

"I'll help you," he said. He guided her to sit upright again. Scooting out from behind her was an uncomfortable proposition, as hard as he was. But he survived getting up, and offered her a hand. Steadying each other, they made their way to the bedroom, not stopping even to kiss.

Clothes quickly shed, their mouths came together, fierce and hungry. Stopping to catch a breath, Lisbon felt the chill of her bare skin over the heat she had been experiencing.

"Patrick?" she asked in a soft voice, feeling almost shy. After skating so long at the edge of orgasm, she felt more naked of spirit than of body. This was the first time he had taken the lead since they consummated their relationship. The emotional balance felt different, like a sea change.

"Mmm, Teresa?

"What do you want to do?"

He tangled his hands in her hair, angling her head so he could nip at her lips, kissing her, his tongue thrusting into her mouth and sliding along hers. When their lips broke apart again, he said, "I want to lay you down on the bed, turn you over, and take you from behind."

"Oh. Yeah." Her words came out in a breathy voice. "Sounds good." He nuzzled her cheek before closing in on her mouth again. Her hands roamed over his chest, lightly stroking his nipples then caressing down his abdomen. His stomach muscles tightened reflexively when her hands reached his hips. His erection brushed against her belly. That sensation was almost enough to rob him of rationality.

"You want it too?" he asked.

"Mmhm."

"Good." Another searing kiss, and he walked her over to the bed. He sank down on it, bringing her with him. He got all the way in bed, and she followed. Lisbon rolled to face him, reaching out to him, running a hand over his skin. He kissed her lips, his hand tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck.

When her fingers traveled down past his waist to grasp his erection, sliding up and down, she reveled in the feel of velvet over steel. Her touch made his hips jerk. His hand left her hair, gliding down her body, to push into her wet center. The practiced stroke of his fingers circling her clit quickly brought her back to a fever pitch of arousal.

Between a sigh and a moan, she whispered, "I'm ready."

"Turn over."

Lisbon did as he said. He kissed her near shoulder, and caressed the skin of her back. Then he nudged one knee then the other between her thighs, and stroked her with the head of his erection. Propped up on one arm, he used the other to lift her hips, angling them so he could thrust into her.

Gasping at the deep penetration, she began to reach a hand to stroke herself. But Jane blocked her way, preferring to touch her himself, his hand pressing against her clit in rhythm with his thrusts. He nuzzled the back of her neck and whispered, "Is this ok?"

"Yeah, Patrick," she breathlessly responded. "Don't stop." With him hovering so close to her back, she felt surrounded, taken. And then she was felt swept away by the strength of him pushing into her as he went harder and faster, drowning thought in thrill. They panted in unison. Guttural moans voiced the pleasure that made their bodies clench over and over until they were spent. He collapsed on her.

Rolling to the side, he kissed her near shoulder gently and pulled her against him so he could hold her. He ran a hand up and down her side, tenderly caressing her skin, gently bringing her down and anchoring her to earth with him. When she could speak again, she simply said, "Wow."

"Liked that, did you?" he whispered in reply. Exhaustion took them both into a light sleep for a while.

Jane woke to find Lisbon's hand running up and down the arm he had wrapped around her.

"Want to get up for a while? It's still early and I'm hungry."

"You didn't have anything for supper. I think I'm just thirsty."

In the kitchen, they stood close to each other, little touches keeping them together as he put a sandwich together and she made tea. They were silent while they worked.

After he polished off his sandwich and started to look for cookies, he said, "I do like control, there's nothing new about that. But I've never had the urge to buy manacles or put a ball gag into someone's mouth."

Lisbon snorted a bit of tea, and choked out, "What?"

"You were wondering before - if I need to assert dominance to get off during intercourse, or if there is something about the position that I needed. It's a little of both, but more the latter. It doesn't have to be a rear entry position every time, but it does feel really good.

"It's easier for me to let go if I - " he took a breath and looked away, "don't have the distraction of eye contact. Sometimes it's overwhelming - seeing all the layers of the way you feel and think about me when I'm inside you. I can see when it's trust and love that lets you open up. I can see when a woman makes herself open just to shut me up and get it over with. I can see when the first few uncomfortable thrusts give way to something better, and when the potential for pleasure falls flat. It does no man's ego good to know that."

Tearing himself open for her inspection, he kept going. "I see how pain and pleasure are warp and weft for you. It has always made me feel a little too triumphant. It didn't used to bother me, before, but now I find it disturbing. And I can't escape it when I can see your eyes - even when, especially when you are taking charge."

"If it makes it difficult, why did you want me to keep my eyes open the first time?" she asked.

"I couldn't take hurting you again. I needed to know what I was doing to you."

"For the record, I thoroughly approved of what you were doing tonight." She leaned against him as they both finished drinking their tea.

IIIIIIIII

Back at work Monday morning, for all intents and purposes everything went back to normal. Lisbon still had a desk full of paperwork. Cho still saw much but talked little. Rigsby still gangled, mentally if not physically. Van Pelt still looked up to Lisbon and worried about the toll recent developments were taking on her. Jane still lazed on the couch, said things that stirred up trouble, and hatched plots of unusual scope.

Friday morning, Supervising Agent Hightower called Jane into her office.

"Patrick, it's good to see you looking so well. I can't imagine last week was all that easy for you."

"No, Madeleine, it wasn't. But we survived."

"Yes, you did." There was a slight emphasis on the 'you'. She obviously meant to include Lisbon in the statement. "You know the old saying 'Ceasar's wife must be above reproach'?"

"I've heard it."

"Agent Lisbon is the one wearing the laurel leaves in your relationship. You've been careful, so far. Keep that up. Because if you make a mess that is bigger than she can clean up, the consequences could be ugly for her. There are some things I cannot protect the two of you from. That is all up to you. Rules get made when problems come up. You don't want to cause the problem that causes the rule.

"And Patrick?" she continued.

"Yes, Madeleine?"

"Be happy."

"I don't deserve it."

"No, but she does. And when you're not happy, she's... less happy."

He nodded. Message received.

She kissed him on the cheek and shooed him out of her office.

Returning to lounge on the couch in Lisbon's office, he wore a smirk, causing Lisbon to ask, "Do I want to know what that was about?"

"Maybe not. Mostly she was calculating the chances of Mimi getting to augment her college fund by babysitting for us in a few years."

"She was not!"

"You're right. She was working too hard on not saying how pretty our babies would be to think that far ahead."

"I have a stapler. Right here."

"And right there is where it will stay. I glued it to your desk. I know your ways, Lisbon. You're going to have to ask Cho for the three-hole punch."

A couple of hours later he got up to stretch. Lisbon asked, "Jane, what do you want to do tonight?"

"Same thing we do every night, Teresa." Suddenly he was right behind her, one hand tracing around her shirt collar, two fingers fiddling with her top button. "Try to take over the world."

 _\- Finis -_


End file.
